


Be Mine

by sylvanWhispers



Series: Valentine AU [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Aftermath of Abduction, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Happy Valentine's Day my fellow heathens, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Rape Aftermath, Recovery, Relapse, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvanWhispers/pseuds/sylvanWhispers
Summary: Ever since Theon was rescued it's been nothing but endless therapy and doctor's appointments to repair the damage of being held captive in a madman's cellar. He's doing his best to move on - even if the police have long hit a dead end and the culprit could be almost anyone - when in comes a charming stranger who somehow isn't turned off by all his brokenness.And if his new flame reminds him of his time in captivity... surely that's just Theon's imagination.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy & Yara Greyjoy
Series: Valentine AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759165
Comments: 156
Kudos: 282





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, from hell.

He first met Ramsay in the downstairs bar of his hotel.

Theon had stayed for the wedding but ditched on the reception. Showing up to support Sansa on her big day was one thing, but having him stick around for the party would only make everyone awkward and miserable. It had taken him forever to even confirm his attendance in the first place - Sansa actually had to call his uncle’s house personally to ask if Theon had received the invitation (and to also confirm that yes, she really did want him there).

 _You are cordially invited_ had stared up at him in golden ink from his bedside drawer for weeks, the crisp off-white parchment looking far too fine and posh to be held in his ruined hands. It had smelled like roses. Tyrell’s idea? Not that Sansa would have had any complaints. He thought she’d only asked to be polite, and had long puzzled over what the ‘right’ answer would have been in response.

It wasn’t like he’d made much effort to keep in contact since leaving the North, even as Sansa reached out to him with emails and letters to check in. He’d only ever sent back the bare minimum of a response. What was he supposed to say? He doubted she wanted to hear about surgeries or physical therapy appointments, about dental replacements or humiliating group therapy sessions with him as the only man there. No need to burden her with his bullshit when she was just trying to be kind.

 _“Robb’s been asking about you,”_ she’d said after finally getting through by phone. _“I’m not going to get involved, I just think you should know. Of course he wasn’t going to stay mad at you, Theon.”_

He should have. Theon didn’t deserve forgiveness and he certainly didn’t want any that was born of pity.

 _“Just think about it. You don’t have to bring anything or do anything,”_ Sansa had insisted and he didn’t know when her voice became so firm and steady and like her mother’s. What happened to that bubbly, clueless little girl? _“The ceremony’s at the house. We almost had it at Margaery’s but she saw how important it is for me to be around family before the move. That’s why I want you there.”_

At that moment he’d wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor, into the earth, and vanish. He wasn’t family, he’d never been family, and even if he had been he certainly wouldn’t be anymore. What happened didn’t absolve him of a damn thing. The thought of walking through those familiar doors and having everyone’s knowing eyes on him made him want to scream.

But he’d done it. He’d fucking boarded a ferry to the North, put on a suit and done it. Mostly sober, too. He’d successfully dodged Robb as well (barely, even resorting to hiding in a coat closet while he paid the attendant to look the other way), which was good because that conversation could’ve only ended in either tears or fists. Neither was what today should’ve been about.

“You look like you’ve had one hell of a time.”

Theon glanced to the side and was immediately beset by a pair of spectral blue eyes. The stranger was a man his age, with snow white skin and raven dark hair like something out of a fairy tale. After a moment’s pause Theon managed to clear his throat before swallowing down his drink.

“You have no idea.”

“No?” The guy idly examined his glass. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Theon scoffed. “I’ve already got a therapist, thanks.”

“I can see it’s working great for you.”

He laughed in spite of himself. “You always this pushy?”

“Only for the things I want.”

Theon faltered. He glanced back at the stranger, who was watching him through a half-lidded gaze.

It was a testament to how far he’d fallen that he genuinely didn’t know what to say. It was true that he’d made a lot of gains in the past three years: his weight was up, his teeth were fixed, the leg they’d had to re-break to make it mend properly was giving him less trouble. He was still missing both of his pinkies, along with the middle finger off his left hand, but he could still write (and as his sister was so fond of telling him, he was far from the only Ironborn to be missing fingers. If people assumed he had a penchant for drunkenly attempting the finger dance, it was hardly worse than the truth).

However his mind was still a storm, a whirling mess of blood and seafoam, and no matter how his body healed that hadn’t changed. It was hard for him to believe that anyone could want him the way he was now, especially with… well. The less he thought about the state of things between his legs, the better.

“Trust me mate,” Theon said, placing his money on the bar. “You don’t want any of this.”

* * *

Theon’s abduction had been the finale to a brutal chain of misfortunes and bad decisions.

His father had finally died, which would have been bad enough as Theon found himself terribly mourning a man who’d never given half a fuck about him. He’d been delusional to the core, right up until he learned he’d been left out of the old man’s will. What followed was a downward spiral of rather cosmic proportions, culminating on the night he decided to throw a party at the mostly-empty Stark house. He passed out some time past midnight, completely off his tits on booze and drugs, and awoken some hours later to the discovery that a small fire had been set off inside.

Bran and Rickon had been home, upstairs and hiding from the chaos. It’d been Bran that called the fire department.

Suffice to say Theon had not been welcome back at the Stark house after that, and he’d been such a defensive cunt when Robb confronted him that it didn’t look likely to ever change.

He couch surfed for a while afterwards on some old hook-ups, falling deeper into the black hole of drink and drugs and sex. Those weeks were such a genuine blur that he hadn’t even been able to give a precise story to the cops about how he’d been grabbed. He’d been drunk, as was the usual, and stumbling home from a pub. Theon hoped he put up a fight, but it was just as likely a stranger had offered him a ride or some blow and he’d just… gotten in.

He’d sobered up real quick once he found himself shackled in a windowless cellar.

Even nearly three years later, the memories came back to him at the strangest times. He’d be counting cracks in the sidewalk and suddenly remember what it felt like to have cement floor rough and cruel on his bony knees, palms rubbed raw. He’d hear the rattle of a bike lock’s chain and feel shackles, sharp and cold on his frail wrists. Most reminders of sex brought him back to when each thrust had ground him deeper into the floor, with Theon deliriously hoping the force of it would crumble him to dust.

The rape didn’t actually start until what he now estimated was sometime into the second month. Theon got the distinct sense that it hadn’t been planned, that his tormentor had intended to simply mince him up and throw his bones to the dogs when they were done. But something had gone wrong with that outline. While he had occasionally heard girls screaming and hounds baying from neighboring rooms, the women had never lasted more than maybe two weeks at a time. So why was Theon still alive?

God, he needed to get out of the North. There was too much bad history here, too many grim reminders. The fact that they never caught the son of a bitch was also a problem. The psycho had spoken exclusively through a voice modulator and liberally blindfolded or sedated Theon as needed. Before abandoning the bunker and Theon along with it, he must’ve bathed everything he touched in bleach.

The investigators had long hit a dead end, though they were still refusing to officially admit it.

But as everyone was so keen on saying, life went on.

* * *

Nights were often the hardest.

On Harlaw, whenever Theon finally pulled himself from his troubled dreams he would wrench himself free of his sheets and desperately lunge for the window, throwing it open heedless of the cold winds outside. With the chill came the salt and roar of the sea to remind him of where he was, which was far and away from that stale bunker.

_“My, that’s a lot of blood. You must be uncomfortable. If you’re good, I might give you something for it. Don’t be shy, you’ve still got a few toes to spare-“_

Theon took a deep, shaking breath, desperate to inhale brine but getting only the crisp null scent of his hotel room. His body ached as if it clearly remembered all the times he’d been strapped down and hooded whilst a madman lifted his nails from their beds and parted skin from muscle, strip by strip.

_“Go on, tell me how you should be punished. You want my forgiveness, don’t you?”_

He wanted to be home, to look down at the crashing abyss below and think about how easy it would be to just walk out the front door and vanish.

_“Here’s a game, pet. If you hold out tonight I’ll let you eat whatever you want. If you come before I do, I take another finger.”_

Loathe though he was to fall back into old bad habits, Theon felt himself being pulled back downstairs. Just another drink, just enough to help him sleep.

At that hour the bar was mostly empty. Theon slid into a chair and tried to ignore the familiar face that was sat nearby, clicking away on a laptop.

“Trouble sleeping?”

“Nothing whiskey can’t fix.” Theon tiredly rubbed his eyes. “What about you? You've barely moved.”

“I keep rather odd hours in general.”

“Work?”

“Sometimes. School too.”

There was a pause. The other man spared him the barest glance over his screen.

“It’d be good manners to ask me my name at this point.”

“I’ve never met an Ironborn with good manners.” Theon still felt himself wilt under that disapproving gaze. “If I ask your name I’ll have to tell you mine. I don’t want you to look me up.”

“Oh? Got a bad reputation, do you?” The stranger’s eyes lit up with humor. “Are you a dangerous man?”

“Piss off.”

They fell back into silence.

“I see I’ll have to take initiative. I’m Ramsay.”

“… Theon.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Ramsay closed his laptop. “So. Theon. How about you let me buy that drink?”

* * *

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

The problem (well, one of many) was that Theon was not a man of abundant self control. Hence how he wound up snogging a stranger in a hotel bar on the eve of his return to the islands.

It had just been so _long_. He had always been a physical person and for the past three years he’d been fucking _starving_ for contact. Ramsay was more than happy to oblige, hands roaming eagerly over Theon’s body. It wasn’t until that heated touch dipped between Theon’s thighs that he jolted away as if struck by lightning.

“Did I do something wrong?” Ramsay asked, his hands cautiously held up. “What is it?”

“N-no, it- it’s not you, I just.” Theon felt feverish with mortification. “I can’t. I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t,” Ramsay repeated, brow pinched in confusion. “… Because you’ve got someone else.”

“No! That’s not it at all!” Theon rubbed his hands over his face. “There’s no one else. And I want to. But I can’t.”

“You want to. I want to. I’m still not seeing the problem.”

He would if he took Theon’s trousers off, that was for damn sure. How did a person explain something like that?

Theon anxiously wrung his mauled hands, rubbing at where there was still a dark scar on his left ring finger: a perfect strip where the skin had been flayed clean off.

_“I might leave it like this, actually. It's like a wedding band._ _Do you like it? It’s one of a kind.”_

“I’ve got scars,” Theon said stupidly, avoiding Ramsay’s eyes.

“I noticed,” he said simply. He slid closer. “I like scars. I want to see all of yours.”

“You don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I want.” The words were said lightly and yet there was still something there that made Theon flinch. “If you bail out now it’s only on you.”

Theon couldn’t help but feel a little irritated in spite of himself. He was trying to let the guy down easy, why was he making this so goddamn difficult?

“You know what? Fine.” He downed his drink. “Come on.”

Ramsay’s brow shot up. “Where?”

“To prove you wrong, asshole.”

Even as he let Ramsay touch and kiss him in the elevator, Theon was preparing for the worst. To be laughed at. To be recoiled from like something disgusting. Perhaps worst of all, to be looked upon with pity and given an apology before the swift exit.

Whatever. He’d survive. Theon was good at that, at least.

It took everything he had to lay still on the bed as Ramsay slid his hands under the grey t-shirt he’d been sleeping in. Calloused fingers roved across marred skin and skirted the lines of his ribs. Theon’s pulse quickened as those hands finally came to his waistband.

“Alright?”

Theon fixed his gaze to a set point on the wall. “Let’s just get this over with.”

There was a pause, followed by the undoing of his fly. He closed his eyes as his trousers were worked down to his knees, followed soon after by his boxers.

The quiet stretched on. Theon was certain the thunder of his heart was audible.

“… Look at me, sweetling.”

He didn’t want to, but the feeling of firm hands spreading his thighs apart had his eyes shooting open.

“What are you-“

Theon promptly lost his voice at the sight of Ramsay kneeling between his legs, gazing at his scar like it was… he didn’t even know. Like it was some kind of art. Like Theon’s battleground of a body was something beautiful.

Their eyes met, ocean green to icy blue, and Theon’s breathing went shallow.

“What are you doing?” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Ramsay gave him a patronizing look. “I hope you’re not usually this thick.”

“I-“

“Does it hurt?”

Theon thought for a moment before shaking his head. “It… it aches sometimes. And the memories hurt, but they hurt everywhere. Now it’s - I’ve gone in for so many surgeries and treatments I don’t even know wha -“

Everything else he might have said was lost forever the second Ramsay pressed his tongue to Theon’s skin, warm and wet on his sensitive flesh.

Theon’s body didn’t know how to react to this, nearly bucking off the bed of its own volition. Ramsay’s hands locked in an iron grip on his hip and thigh, keeping him in place.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, what are you doing-” He was babbling, curses and questions streaming from his lips incoherently.

It wasn’t like his memories of being sucked and it alone likely wouldn’t be enough to make him finish, but god help him it felt good. Better than anything he’d felt in years.

Eventually Ramsay’s fingers were probing at his entrance. Theon didn’t know where he got the lube from or when he’d coated his fingers, but frankly the apocalypse could have been going down outside and it would’ve escaped all notice.

“ _Fuck_ , god you’re fucking crazy, don’t stop-“ He was begging and quite possibly crying and still too far gone to give a damn.

It took only a few thrusts of Ramsay’s fingers against his prostate before he was screaming into the crook of his elbow, lights bursting behind his eyelids.

For several long moments Theon lay there, staring at the ceiling with pupils that must’ve been as wide as olives. Just like that, three years' worth of sexual frustration and loneliness wrung from his body.

“… You got a kink or something?”

Ramsay snorted before climbing up the bed, draping Theon’s body with his own.

“I’ve got a few,” he said mildly. “I think you said something about proving me wrong? I don’t quite recall.”

“Smartass.” Theon gave him a light nudge. “Lie down. Unless you don’t want me to return the favor-”

Then there were lips on his and he didn’t even mind the taste.

* * *

Theon’s sister had completely taken the reigns after What Happened.

As soon as he’d been discharged from the hospital Yara had him immediately brought to their uncle’s monstrous house on Harlaw. She then quickly sent others to close out his affairs in the North: they packed his apartment, they sold his car, they settled his bills and informed anyone who didn’t already know that he wasn’t coming back. As if there had been anyone in the fucking nation who didn’t know that Theon had gotten himself abducted and tortured in a basement for over two months.

Thus began the long slog of ‘recovery’: the parade of doctors and appointments, set upon a backdrop of shouting matches when the numbness wore off and his mood swings got the better of him - Yara screaming at him that this or that was happening and it was final, him screaming at her to fuck off and let him die. Their Harlaw cousins quickly learned to give them both a wide berth most of the time, which proved an easy enough task.

It was a very big property, and one where locking relatives away to go mad in private was not a foreign practice.

Most days Theon felt like little more than a ghost in his uncle’s house. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling - he floated from room to room, lingered in the background, and lived as if a sheer veil kept him separate from the rest of the world. He was sure they talked about him when he was gone, but when he was there no one paid him much mind. The family was just so large, with people coming and going all the time, that eventually Theon became just another odd fixture to the house.

“You seem different,” Yara said after a moment’s scrutiny.

She always seemed to be scrutinizing him, but the examination he received after making port was especially thorough. She hadn’t wanted him to attend the wedding at all, and probably would have been happiest knowing Theon would never set foot in the North (or even on the mainland) for the rest of his days.

After the bastard who did it, sometimes he wondered who she blamed most for what happened: Theon, their father, the Starks, or her own self.

“I feel different,” Theon said. “Lighter.”

It was actually true. He had come back to the islands with something that almost resembled peace in his heart.

They were sat in his room, or rather the room that had been allocated to him when he arrived. Harlaw had been the obvious destination as the only island with medical facilities worth a damn, but also because Pyke was no place for him to be when at his weakest.

Waves crashed upon the rocks beyond his window, and somewhere in the grounds below rang the sound of playing children. Their parents were likely assorted captains and sailors for the shipping or fishing conglomerates that the region revolved around. It was practically Ironborn custom to punt your kids off onto your aging relatives so that you could continue to work at sea. The kids and teens were all second or third cousins, left on the rocks until they were old enough to join their parents at the helm.

Yara huffed. “Guess that shrink of yours isn’t completely full of shit, then. So you found that ‘closure’ or whatever she was on about?”

“Uh.” He wasn’t certain if Yara would be pleased or exasperated to know the stilted acrobatics Theon had gone through to avoid being alone with Robb, like a goddamn Yakety Sax skit. “Sure.”

She gave him a doubtful look before shaking her head. “Whatever. You’re home now and that’s all that matters I suppose.”

At that moment he felt his phone vibrate with a new text. Ramsay had been messaging him consistently since they parted ways at the hotel.

“Yeah.” Theon swallowed. “Absolutely.”

* * *

_The wind was a distant shriek through the thick concrete walls of the bunker (basement? Cellar? Theon couldn’t know for sure, it was all just a dungeon to him). It was both a comfort and a torment to be reminded that the world outside hadn’t ceased to exist, but continued to do so just out of reach._

_ The blindfold was so heavy over his eyes, soaking his cold sweat. The air was thick with a damp chill as he hung limp in his shackles. A gloved touch suddenly ran down the length of his spine, causing him to jerk in shock, chains rattling. _

_ There was a breathy laugh followed by a squeeze of his hips, followed by the metallic sound of a blade being plucked from a medical tray- _

Theon barely had time to roll off the sunroom couch and make a mad sprint for the nearest bathroom. He promptly heaved the contents of his stomach along with copious bile into the toilet. Phantom pain laced through his body. He couldn’t breathe.

“Oh fuck.” The floorboards outside the bathroom creaked. “Theon? You alright?”

Theon tried to wave him - Gevin? Wren? Fuck, he couldn’t remember - off whilst still being sick over the basin.

“Do I uh, need to call your sister?”

Theon made a desperate sound of protest as he choked for air.

“Okay, no Yara. Got it. I’ll um. Just leave you to it then?”

Theon gave a shaky thumbs-up.

Once the bathroom door mercifully swung closed, Theon slumped weakly upon the floor. He really needed to be more careful about where he fell asleep.

He buried his face in his hands and tried to get a hold of himself. Yara had made it repeatedly clear that she didn’t want to send him to any live-in mental health facility, but if it looked like he wasn’t getting better she would have no choice.

Theon had to get better. He was getting better. Right?

His phone went off again, buzzing from where it had fallen from his pocket to the bathroom tile. He felt his heart flutter before the heavy feeling in his stomach regained prominence.

What was he doing? No way in hell he could consider actually getting anywhere with this guy. Even before the Incident, Theon hadn’t been suited for relationships, and he sure as shit wasn’t capable now. Plus Ramsay was attractive, healthy, and came from money judging by his fancy phone, slick computer and the designer watch he wore. Maybe the Old Theon could have been his match, but not anymore. Sex was one thing, but the instant Ramsay realized how deep the issues ran… he'd be crazy not to bail. Plus the guy was Northern. What kind of future could they have? They barely had a present.

Far better to quit while they were ahead. Thanks for the good time and being the only person who’d find his mutilated body appealing, nice knowing you, hit me up if you’re ever in the islands. Done.

It was what his therapist would have called ‘responsible and self-aware decision making’. So why did it make him feel so fucking sick?

* * *

On the occasion Theon simply couldn’t sleep, he was prone to wander.

The house was suited for it, with long hallways and hidden nooks or alcoves everywhere. It seemed inevitable that he’d absently find way to his mother’s old room. It’d been left untouched for years, and he had expected it to still be so even with his mother’s ashes long interred to the sea. He’d found it to be completely remade.

“We turned the room over,” Yara said blithely when asked about it. “You know, to Dagon’s daughter?”

“Oh.” Uncle Rodrik’s eldest son. Theon could barely recall the man’s face, but given that Dagon was older than them both and now spent all his time sailing the world with that Jasian wife of his, this felt justified.

“You’ve met her before. Asked her how many years it’d be until she was legal,” Yara said, brow quirked with a hint of judgement. “I’m hoping you didn’t know she was a relative at the time.”

Theon grimaced. He didn’t remember, but he had a very easy time believing her. He had wondered why the girl had taken to pointedly calling him 'nuncle' at every opportunity; he just assumed she liked making him feel old.

“What happened to mom’s things?”

“Attic. The world doesn’t stop turning, Theon. We couldn’t just preserve her old room like a tomb,” Yara said bluntly.

“Oh.”

He should’ve seen it coming, with so many in and out of the house for fostering or visits upon making port. His mother’s family was so unlike his father’s and so unlike the Stark’s. It was easy to feel overwhelmed or like he was getting left behind in the bustle. Now he wondered how long it’d be before he too was packed away into some corner of the estate, shelved to gather dust like his mother’s things. Used-up junk no one knew what to do with but also couldn’t find it in them to discard.

“Don’t try getting them down yourself,” Yara was saying. “The lifts are newer than the rest of the house, they don’t go everywhere and that leg of yours won’t make the stairs.”

Theon didn’t know how to tell her that he didn’t actually want to see mother’s things. He had wandered to her room on automatic, hoping for something he knew he wouldn’t find - not in an old shuttered bedroom, and certainly not in a dust-caked box.

“Nuncle will be glad to know her things won’t be left to rot up there,” Yara said after a moment. “He took her death harder than father did.”

“Maybe it’s for the better,” Theon heard himself say, voice dull. “I don’t know how she could’ve stood to see me like this.”

What would she think of him now? Broken, ruined and aimless. He felt like some washed-up creature, beaten against the rocks only to wash up ashore, denied the dignity of drowning. Would she look upon him with disappointment? Would she cry? Would she be angry, beautifully livid as only seen on the rare occasion father finally pushed too far?

In the end, maybe he was glad she was gone. Alannys Greyjoy had suffered enough without having to see what her youngest child became.

“Don’t think like that,” Yara said with what might have been genuine fear flashing in her eyes. “Mother was Ironborn. She was tougher than father ever credited her. And so are you.”

She cupped his face in her hands, just like when they were kids. She would say with her words to quit sniveling and sack up, but with her thumbs would swipe the tears from his eyes.

“What’s dead may never die,” she said gently. “But rises again, harder and stronger.”

He didn’t protest when two days later the boxes were brought to his room, stocked with books and trinkets and old hand-sewn quilts. A half-empty bottle of his mother’s perfume brought tears to Theon’s eyes when he caught a whiff.

If he sprayed his pillow with a bit of it that night no one had to know, and if it was the first dreamless sleep he’d had in months, that was his secret to keep as well.

Tomorrow, he thought to himself. Tomorrow he’d do the right thing about Ramsay.

* * *

Tomorrow became tomorrow’s tomorrow, and then it became a vague ‘later’.

In the meantime the texts continued, interspersed with phone calls and the occasional film stream.

 _“So you’re just living in your uncle’s house?”_ Ramsay asked one day, mild as anything.

“Don’t say it like that,” Theon said, only half-watching the movie. “It’s an absurdly big house for an absurdly big family. A quarter of my relatives technically live with my uncle.”

_“Why Harlaw? I thought you were from Pyke.”_

“Pyke is miserable. My father’s family makes me miserable. And this island has everything I need for treatment.”

_“We have hospitals in the North, too.”_

Theon froze. “What are you saying?”

_“I suppose I’m asking what your plans are. Do you intend to stay in that house forever?”_

“I…”

_“Isn’t there anything you want to do? Did you have plans, before?”_

“Not… really.” Theon shrugged despite the fact that Ramsay couldn’t see it. “I was a bit of an asshole then. Didn’t usually think further ahead than the next weekend.”

The next hit, the next lay. He had time and money and no real life skills beyond that.

Ramsay hummed. _“Well there’s plenty to do here.”_

Theon shifted uncomfortably in the nest of pillows and blankets he’d made.

“Did you ever get around to looking me up?”

_“I did.”_

“Then you know why this is necessary. I’m not… I’m not alright,” Theon said reluctantly. “I’m not ready to be out in the world.”

_“Says who, your sister?”_

“Says everyone.” Theon sighed. “I don’t understand you. You know what happened. How are you not running for the hills by now?”

 _“I don’t know how much clearer I can make myself. I like you. I want to see you again. I want to_ touch _you again.”_

Theon felt himself grow warm.

“You could always come to the islands?” He offered, half a joke and half sincere.

_“Ha. Some of us have to work, sweetness.”_

“What do you do, anyway?”

 _“Busywork for my father mostly,”_ Ramsay said with exaggerated disdain. _“He likes to keep me ‘out of trouble’.”_

“Oh? Get in trouble often, do you?”

 _“It’s been known to happen.”_ A pause. _“If it’s the world you’re worried about, I don’t live in the city proper. The closest town is the village by the ski resort. It’s a nice place. The local community college has a sub-branch within driving distance.”_

“Ramsay…”

 _“I know it’s a lot so soon,”_ Ramsay said soothingly. _“But be honest. There’s nothing keeping you in the islands but your sister’s fussing. We have better doctors and treatment centers here if you need it.”_

“That’s a stereotype. The doctors here are fine,” Theon grumbled. “And it’s not just the ‘world’, it’s the North specifically.”

Silence.

“… _If you’re not serious about us, you can say so,”_ Ramsay said finally. _“I’m a big boy, Theon. If you’re not ready, or you’re just looking for a friend-“_

“What?” Theon felt his stomach clench. “Wait a minute-“

_“I really like you. I think we’ve got a good thing going but you haven’t exactly given me clear signals. So please, enlighten me.”_

Theon knotted his fingers in the sheets. His mind was still struggling to wrap itself around the fact that Ramsay genuinely wanted him at all, let alone that he wanted to be serious. They’d been carrying on like this for several weeks and it felt like there was something worthwhile in it, but that didn’t mean they were ready for such a drastic step. And yet…

What if Ramsay was right and Theon was just hiding out in his uncle’s house? Did he really want to live like this forever? To be the Harlaw ghost, haunting these endless halls until the end times?

And when was he going to get another chance like this? A guy like that, wanting to go all in on a mess like Theon?

“… I’ll talk to my sister.”

He needed to call his therapist.

* * *

Of course it wasn’t going to be so quick or easy.

“This is so bloody typical of you!” Yara snapped, nearly ramming her fist through the dining room table. “You get your first bit of ass in nearly three years and suddenly you lose all fucking sense!”

What had started as an innocent proposition quickly took a turn once she realized he was being serious. From there it wasn’t long until the pair of them were escalating, as always, until they were damn near shouting the roof down. Their various cousins had long since scuttled into the woodwork, but neither of them gave a shit about that. Putting up with Greyjoy nonsense was practically what Harlaw’s were _for_.

“Oh fuck off! It’s not about that!”

“I’m sorry, is it true love?” Yara asked, voice dripping in scorn. “He screwed you once in a hotel room and it was so good you’ll throw your whole life away?”

“What fucking life!?” Theon demanded, sweeping his arms about the room. “My life is nothing but endless goddamn doctor’s appointments!”

“Because you’re in recovery, Theon!” Yara looked like she was barely restraining herself from shaking him. “Even _if_ you were in any way ready to run off into the bloody sunset with some guy, there’ll be a drought in the Drowned God’s hall before I let you live in the North again!”

“Here I was under the impression that I was a grown ass adult!” Theon fired back. “I don’t need your permission! I can make my own damn decisions!”

“And look how well that’s served you!” Yara shouted. “You never should have stayed in the North as long as you did! You were young and you were vulnerable-“

“Don’t you fucking dare-“

“You didn’t know who or what you were and that Stark brat made you even more confused! Father didn’t do right by you, I know that. He drove you away and you needed somewhere to belong but it’s _here,_ Theon. You belong here. And I get that you’re… I don’t know, _lonely_ but-”

“Yara.” He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t want to live the rest of my life in our uncle’s house as some sad, broken thing.”

“I know. And we’ll get there. You’re getting better everyday. But if you go back to the North, where we can’t protect you, and you get hurt again…” Yara took a deep breath before solidifying her stance. “I've come too close to losing you too many times, don't you see?”

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Without his anger Theon felt depleted. He wanted to lie down and sleep for a hundred years.

“The North isn’t safe,” Yara said. “Especially not when those idiots never caught the bastard.”

“He’s probably long gone by now,” Theon said without feeling. “And I really like this guy. When people look at me, all they see is what happened. He doesn’t. He makes me want to get better and actually have a future for once.”

Yara looked outright pained as she put her face in her hands. “Did you talk to the therapist about this?”

“Yeah. She says it could be a good thing... but to not do anything drastic.”

Yara sighed. “I am not letting you move back to the North to shack up with a random asshole you just met.”

“That isn't-“

“You may be an adult, but I control your fucking assets. I’m your head of house, dammit.” She gave him a somber look. “Wait here a minute.”

“What?”

She swept from the dining room, leaving him alone in the aftermath. From down the hall he could hear the muffled sound of someone rummaging through the downstairs office room. Some minutes later she returned with a faded manila folder. Yara emptied it out onto the table, causing a cascade of business cards and brochures.

“They gave me a whole bunch of shit when I picked you up from the hospital. Even after I said I didn’t need it because I was taking you home.” She rolled her eyes. “Go figure.”

“What is this?”

“Me cutting you a deal. Take it or leave it.” She tossed a brochure over to him.

It was a pamphlet for a residential trauma rehabilitation facility.

“You’ve got to be joking.” Theon thumbed through it with a distant sort of horror. “This is one of those glorified resorts for rich cunts who got kidnapped for ransom.”

“You are a rich cunt who got kidnapped. If there’d been a ransom, we’d have paid,” Yara said blandly. “Anyway, I can’t guess how doing yoga and petting horses helps anything, but the hell do I know? They have a decent security system and ‘round the clock staff, and it’s the only way I’m letting you leave home.”

“I always knew you secretly hated me.”

“I’m being serious. If you think you’re ready to go out and make a life for yourself, I can’t stop you. But I need to know that you’re safe and still getting the help you need.”

Theon had gotten a lot of his pride and dignity forcibly carved from him from his time in captivity. He knew what it felt like to be tortured, violated and left in his own filth. He knew what it was like to beg for scraps and say thank-you for abuse.

He’d been in _very_ bad shape when they found him. He had to be sedated just so that the nurses could wash him, and spent every halfway conscious moment babbling apologies and asking where ‘He’ was. When ‘He’ would be coming for him. It had taken forever for them to let him out of the hospital, in part because they thought he might hurt himself (fair, given how he escaped) and in part because the cops didn’t want Yara spiriting him out of the country on an active investigation.

The first year had been a brutal slog of surgeries and near constant counseling. He’d been attached to Yara’s side like a child again, needing her permission for everything (could he eat, could he shower, could he sleep in the bed). It wasn’t until year two that he started to wake up, albeit in a bad way, with him getting angry and emotional over every fucking thing.

It was still always a bit surprising when Theon rediscovered a little bit of vanity.

“This is so degrading.”

“If nothing else, the press won’t be able to bother you there.”

“Am I going to get a curfew?”

“There’ll be rules,” she said vaguely.

“Fuck.”

“You do realize what you’re asking for, right?” Yara folded her arms.

“Yeah.”

“And you think this guy’s worth it.”

“It’s not just about the guy. I want to move on, Yara. The North isn’t some scary monster and there’s nothing more the islands can do for me.” Theon closed the pamphlet. “So. How do I do this?”

And wasn't that a loaded question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Planned on this being a one shot (as I always do...) but it was dragging too long and I wanted just a li'l something posted for V-day. So here we be.


	2. Chapter 2

The Safe Harbour Facility for trauma recovery was located in the middle of fucking nowhere. Which was standard enough, because many would say that the North in its entirety was one big frosty nowhere, with the occasional somewheres just kinda sprinkled around. The facility was owned by Southerners and it sure as hell felt like it, from the ritzy decor to the constant spa music to the goddamn incense dispensers that seemed to be in every room. The property had a godswood on site, but the logo and various materials all made subtle references to the Seven.

Theon thanked the Drowned God his sister hadn’t sent him here when he’d been at his worst because the place would’ve been in rubble within a week. Yara herself looked genuinely pained to be there, and by the time they were midway through the tour he could tell she was regretting everything. It reminded him of an old joke that was sometimes used to scold kids (“You know where the Drowned God sends you if you lived badly, yes?” “A tideless hell?” “No. The New Gods’ _heaven_.” And cue the gasps of horror).

“Their backs are turned,” she murmured from the corner of her mouth. “We can still make it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

The place had probably only been built in the North because it was so remote and private, with wealthy patients being flown in from all over the continent. Theon would bet everything he had that he was the first and only Ironborn to ever be checked in.

At least it was by the sea, even if said sea had the occasional chunk of ice floating past in the distance. Yara had been sure to get him a room with a full ocean view.

“I know it helps,” she said with some approval. “When you’re having… troubles.”

The tide wasn’t very strong with the waves crashing small and lazy on the pebbled shore, but it was saltwater and that was enough.

Theon dropped onto the mattress, which barely moved on account of being some kind of foam.

“… This place is ridiculous.”

“Sure is.”

“You didn’t actually sign me up for yoga, did you?”

“It’d serve you right if I had, you little shit.” Yara cast a critical eye about the room. “You owe me whatever abomination you wind up making in art therapy as payment.”

“Only if you tell anyone who asks that I made it when I was seven.”

The place looked like a standard hotel suite, really. His condo came with a bathroom, which was something he’d been worried about since sending him to a communal shower was a panic attack in the making. He was already giving most of the spa services a pass because strangers touching him without his clothes on was a hard no. He didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if they put him in a sensory deprivation tank.

“I’ll be sending people to check on you when I can,” Yara said. “Just to make sure it’s not some cult or horror show happening behind the scenes.”

“That sounds totally reasonable sister, thank you.”

The idea of anyone from home seeing him here was a bit mortifying. While Theon had spent most of his life trying desperately to prove his mettle, most everybody from the islands would literally jump at the call to do what Yara Greyjoy told them to.

“Anyway,” Yara said, turning away from the window, “you finish getting settled in. Do your orientation or whatever. I’ve got a date with your boyfriend.”

Theon’s gaze shot up. “You’ve got a what with my who?”

“He and I need to exchange some words. If I like what he has to say, he gets to go on your guest list.”

“Yara-“ The look in her eyes alone was enough to silence him. “Did you steal my phone or something?”

“I peeked. Now be good until I get back, will you?” Yara gave the room a final exasperated look. “It just had to be a goddamn Northman. Couldn’t have found an Ironborn to fuck you and make this easy on me, could you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Typical.”

The door swung shut behind her without ceremony.

Theon hugged a pillow to his chest and sat in the new silence. It was certainly strange being in the North again. Even if the islands were technically his home, he had never felt fully able to breathe there. The weight of his family and all its ghosts weighed too heavy on his chest.

In the North, Theon was Ironborn, but in the Iron Islands he was just the littlest guppy who never amounted to anything.

Of course now he was just a broken wreck no matter where he went.

He somberly reached for his phone before firing off a text: _Just heard my sister is about to ambush you. Sorry._

At the very least Ramsay didn’t seem like the sort to buckle against Yara’s will like everyone back home did. Over the course of their correspondence Theon had come to understand a few things about Ramsay Snow.

The most obvious was that he was a bastard, his father being the same Roose Bolton that Theon had sometimes glimpsed at Stark family formals all those years ago. Ramsay had the rare advantage of being raised in his father’s house from near birth, which later translated to working for the man. He was well-educated and affluent as a result, even if he wasn’t legally entitled to the estate. Theon couldn’t help but feel like the gods were giving him one more ironic curveball as punishment for all the hell he’d given Jon in their youth.

Bastard or Bolton or whatever else, Ramsay had a quick wit and easy confidence and an enigmatic sort of vibe that made him hard to pin down. Being with him felt like being with a friend as much as a lover, which wasn’t something Theon had ever experienced with his old flings.

His musings were interrupted by a proprietary knock on the door.

“Theon? If you’re ready, we can start with your orientation!”

He took a deep breath and tried to shore up his strength. He could only hope and pray that this would all be worth it.

* * *

In the end Yara hadn’t been especially impressed with Ramsay, but nor had she been able to contrive any concrete protests.

“He sure always knows the right thing to say,” she had said dourly, most likely having a sulk that her shovel talk hadn’t left much of an impression.

“And that’s bad?”

“Hn. He gives me a weird vibe, is all.” A darkness quickly clouded her gaze. “And I’ve heard what people say about his family.”

“Is it worse than what people say about ours?”

She’d had no response to that.

Yara left soon after with a crushing hug and the stern command to keep in frequent contact. She was likely off to live her own life properly, now that she didn’t have Theon as an anchor shackling her to Harlaw’s port. It was a bittersweet departure. She’d been so steady for him the past three years, and even though they weren’t the sort to get sentimental, it meant more than either of them would ever acknowledge.

There was of course still one significant upside to the whole affair.

Ramsay was loitering in the lobby, looking everything over with a clear expression of “isn’t this quaint”. When those winter eyes slid to his Theon froze like a deer in the headlights. His face began heating like he was a damn teenager - except even as a teenager he’d never been so awkward and easily flustered. Embarrassing.

“Hey.” He coughed. “Looks like you made the grade. Lucky you. Yara had half a mind to send you packing.”

Ramsay gave an easy smile before beckoning him closer. “I’m sure I would have come up with something.”

Theon let himself be pulled in and _oh_ , that felt nice. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been held.

“Can’t believe my sister went out with you before I did,” he muttered, breathing in the suede of Ramsay’s sheepskin jacket along with the musk of his woodsy cologne.

“Well it’s better late than never,” Ramsay said. “And if it makes you feel better, it was a rather discomforting experience all around. Does she really keep an axe in her car?”

“It’s more of a hatchet. And she keeps it in her shoulder bag,” Theon said. “You ever have your sister throw a hatchet at you?”

“My sister is two.”

“Well let me tell you, it is a harrowing experience.”

“Not the worst you’ve had, I’m sure.”

Theon made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a choke. “Wow.”

“Too soon?”

“If Yara were still here she’d really take a blade to you.”

“I think your sister needs to relax.” Ramsay pressed a kiss to his forehead. “And she’s on her way out now, hm? It’s just you and me.”

“Yeah.” Theon basked in his boyfriend’s heat, appreciating how strong and solid his body felt against his own. “You and me.”

* * *

“So tell me about the boyfriend.”

Theon looked up from where he’d been picking at the stitching of the leather chaise. Dr. Forrester looked at him expectantly from her seat across the way.

“What about him?”

He’d never been any good at the whole therapy thing. The idea that he was actually _supposed_ to talk about his feelings and vulnerabilities had been a very foreign concept and he still wasn’t really used to it.

“I hear he’s been very attentive. He comes by for visitor’s hours whenever he can, it seems.”

Theon shrugged, tangling his mismatched hands together on his lap. Ramsay apparently lived within a short distance by train, meaning the commute was an easy one. The girls he’d come to know at the treatment centre were starting to get jealous.

“I don’t ask him to,” he said finally. “He says he wants to see me.”

“You sound unconvinced.”

“It’s a little hard for me to believe. I don’t really know what he sees in me,” Theon said, staring at his shoes. “We get on really well when we’re together but… a guy like him has options, you know? Even with him being a Snow, he’s wealthy, charming… he could get with most anybody.”

“And he was the one who convinced you to come back to the North?”

“Yeah. My sister’s never going to like him on that merit alone but I couldn’t stay. Everything was just so damn stagnant in the islands.”

“I think it’s commendable for you to pursue further treatment. Recovery is an active process,” Dr. Forrester said. “But you should bear in mind that in breaking new ground, there are always going to be setbacks.”

“What’s this got to do with Ramsay?”

“I’m only advising you to take things at a steady pace. You’re entering a new relationship, the first real one you may have ever had, during a significant transitional period of your life. I don’t know Ramsay, but it seems he is very eager to be a source of support to you in this time.”

“Is this where you warn me about things that are too good to be true?”

“This is where I tell you that as you go forward, both you and Ramsay should have realistic expectations. It’s been nearly three years since you began recovery, and if you feel prepared to enter a relationship, it’s your prerogative.” Dr. Forrester looked at him seriously from over her clipboard. “But I will warn you that there is a power imbalance that comes with situations like these. You are in a vulnerable state right now. Even if Ramsay has the best of intentions, it’s a dynamic that can easily turn unhealthy down the line.”

* * *

It was still mostly women that Theon was in treatment with, though there was the occasional man at the facility. The fact that patients came from all over also meant that most of them had scarcely heard of Theon’s abduction despite it being huge news in the North when it happened. People were less likely to comment when they had their own baggage to deal with too, especially since in a facility like this most everyone had a house name of their own to protect. There were unspoken rules about minding your own business and not being an ass, which Theon appreciated.

“I swear if your boyfriend comes by any more, they might as well start charging him rent,” Ava muttered as she struggled to detangle yarn. She’d been trying to teach herself knitting and it wasn’t going far.

A murmur of agreement moved through the lounge. The television hummed unwatched in the background.

“I think it’s _so_ sweet. My boyfriend barely even calls me since I came here,” Elle said morosely. “He’s probably fucked his way through half the Crownlands by now.”

Theon was sprawled on a couch with his overnight bag serving as a pillow. “It’s not that weird. He lives close by, is all.”

“I just want to know what kind of witchcraft you cast to get an overnight pass. I’ve been here for ages and the shrink says I’m _still_ not ready.”

“You only get approved if you get someone on the vetted list to sign you out and swear to babysit you. My parents dropped me here and took the first plane to Dorne, I’ve got no chance.”

Theon slumped further into the cushions. They’d had to file the request ahead of time and it had come with an especially painful session with Dr. Forrester, wherein she had looked at him very seriously and said “We usually don’t approve off-site passes within the first three months, but I think rediscovering your sexuality is important for your healing process.”

But he would rather die than tell the girls that. Whatever the cost had been, he was being allowed to spend the weekend with his boyfriend. That was what mattered, and he could worry about how he’d face his therapist on Monday when the time came.

Due to shared ancestral roots and possibly to proximity, the Ironborn and Northmen had fairly similar holidays. They called them by different names and revered different gods, but just swap the ocean for the forest and fishing for harvest, and the dates and themes would come up largely the same. In this case, swapping the reaping of honey from beehives for the draining of sap from trees gave you the Northern version of the gilded harvest. Back in ancient times it was a fertility celebration and a popular day to announce courtships or betrothals, but now it was merely an excuse to drink mulled wine, eat fresh sweets and scope out lonely singles at bars for an easy lay. At least, that was how Theon had always celebrated.

He didn’t really care about any of that anymore as his partying days were rather firmly behind him, but he was sick of only seeing Ramsay on Sunday afternoons.

“Theon?” A staff member poked into the lounge. “You have a visitor.”

He grabbed his overnight bag to a wave of groans and jeers, quickly making his escape to the lobby. Despite the comments, Theon wasn’t the only one getting signed out for the long weekend and the space was a bit more vibrant than usual.

Ramsay was sat in his usual chair, watching the bustle with patronizing interest.

“Thank god.” Theon all but tackled him. “Get me the hell out of here.”

“Aw. Not having fun in pottery class?” Ramsay teased, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “You promised you’d make me something.”

“Sure. I’ll make you a paperweight of my middle finger. You can keep it on your desk and think of me.”

“I had no idea you were such a romantic.”

He stole a kiss and Theon’s heart swelled.

The attendant at the front desk looked them over as they signed and dated the sheet.

“Going off-site?”

“Uh huh.”

“Hm. Well you know the rules. Be back by Sunday evening. You should also make a note of everything you eat in your food journal.” She fixed Ramsay with a stern look. “He’s on a meal plan.”

God, the meal plan. The first time they caught him picking at his food he’d soon been taken aside for a very lengthy discussion on disordered eating.

Ramsay wore an expression that was very sincere, but Theon knew he was laughing underneath. “Of course, miss. I’ll make sure he’s well taken care of.”

He responded to Theon’s dirty look with a smile. Prick.

Theon had come to learn that Ramsay was a little bit of an asshole. Often dismissive and effortlessly superior (which required considerable balls for a bastard to pull off) he had a very flippant and scathing sense of humor. Theon wasn’t the nicest guy himself and he hailed from the world’s capital of assholes, of which his family quite literally reigned supreme, so none of it was a deterrent.

Bearing the countenance of a man who was constantly in on a joke that the rest of the world wasn’t, there was this raw, tangible aura of _power_ to Ramsay Snow that was utterly captivating. Ramsay was a man who had his life together, who knew what he wanted and often got it, and it continued to boggle the mind that a guy like that wanted anything to do with a disaster like Theon.

Probably better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Theon allowed himself to be steered through the glass doors and down the drive, where the most decadent car he had ever seen in person was parked in full view of the entrance. It looked like it had been hand-sculpted by Braavosi artisans and blessed by at least three different heavens; even beneath the overcast Northern skies its sleek, black finish gleamed like a mirror.

“Holy shit.” He actually stopped in his tracks. “You trying to get in my pants or something?”

It was working. He didn’t imagine there were many things he’d say no to inside one of those.

“Always.” Ramsay’s breath brushed Theon’s ear. “Don’t you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?”

Theon was gently herded into the passenger seat. He genuinely had to choke back a moan at the glorious leather interior.

“Your efforts are unnecessary,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level, “but greatly appreciated.”

“Good to know.”

They swung out of the drive. The car’s smooth acceleration into the long forest road was like a religious experience.

* * *

As far North as they were, the land was all dense tundra and frosted mountains, veined with icy rivers that flowed out to the eastern seaboard. The Safe Harbour facility was tucked away on the shore just south of the Bay of Seals, a strong stone’s throw away from the Long Lake ski resort further inland.

The town was laced with fairy lights and dotted with various food and hot drink stalls for the holiday, a congestion of cars searching for parking indicating where the main festivities were being held. Ramsay navigated past and through the scenic stretch of main street. Couples were everywhere, holding hands and leaning against one another as they browsed the storefronts. In the past Theon would have snorted derisively at the sight.

“We could stop by the festival if you’d like,” Ramsay was saying. “Although I don’t know if maple candy and pork skewers fit in with your _meal plan_.”

“You’re awful.” Theon rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. I’m not one for crowds these days.”

“I figured.” Ramsay reached over to squeeze his thigh. “That means I get you all to myself.”

Theon was caught between preening and burying his face in his hands. How did a person just _say_ things like that to _him_ of all people?

He couldn’t help but feel unbalanced. The Old Theon could have told you more than you wanted to know about sex, seduction and charm, but this was something else. He was on a real, proper date right now, on the mushiest day of the year, and he had absolutely nothing to fall back on.

He was yanked out of his thoughts as the car was put in park.

“Doing alright over there?” Ramsay asked, sounding distinctly amused.

“Uh. Yeah. Just…” Theon tugged at his shirt collar. “I’m a bit out of my depth here. I’ve never really done this before.”

“Theon Greyjoy, inexperienced. Now I’ve heard everything.”

“Seriously.” He gave Ramsay a light swat before something gave him pause. “Hey. Are you saying that you’ve… heard of me? Aside from the- aside from what happened?”

For a moment Ramsay didn’t react. Then, “I might have.”

“You-“

“Anyone who knew the Starks knew of their little tagalong,” Ramsay said, offhand as anything. “Though we did actually meet, just once in passing. At a party.”

“ _What_?” Theon had no idea how to take this, head spinning. “We _met_?”

“In passing,” Ramsay said again. “More an encounter than a meeting, really.”

“Shit. I don’t remember, I barely remember anything from-“ Theon cupped his hands over his face. “Oh god. I was an asshole, wasn’t I? Fuck. I am so sorry.”

Ramsay made a sympathetic sound, lovingly running his fingers through Theon’s hair. “It’s alright, love. It was years ago. That wasn’t even you. That man’s gone now, and you don’t need to keep hurting yourself to try and bring him back.”

“But-“

“It seems to me that everyone’s been going around telling you that you need fixing,” Ramsay said, pulling him closer. “I say you’re perfect just as you are. Right here and now.”

“But I’m supposed to get better,” Theon said miserably. “It’s been three years and I can barely function. Look at me, I don’t even know how to go on a fucking date without falling to pieces.”

“The night hasn’t even started yet,” Ramsay pecked him on the forehead. “You’re doing just fine.”

He didn’t feel fine. He felt like a walking, talking wreck. Even so he let Ramsay coax him from the car, taking him by the hand and leading him through the glittering town square.

“This is nice,” Theon said, admiring the area. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Are you asking if I bring all my dates here?”

“No! …Why, do you? Not that it matters.”

Ramsay snorted. “The answer is no. This may surprise you, but I don’t actually date much either.”

“Oh.”

On one hand it wasn’t a surprise at all, with Ramsay not seeming the type to seek out company. On the other Theon found it hard to believe that the man was ever wanting for it.

Ramsay opened the door for him when they arrived at the restaurant, a gesture that briefly had Theon questioning his reality.

It was the decent sort of place that needed a reservation a few weeks in advance, but still leaned more business casual in terms of dress code. They were seated upstairs with a view of the lake, which was lit up and alive with the various festivities of the evening. Though appealing from a distance, Theon couldn’t help but feel grateful that he’d opted out.

“So why don’t you tell me about this meal plan,” Ramsay said, examining the menu. “What is it that I’m meant to be feeding you?”

Theon flushed. “It’s not that big a deal. I’m just meant to meet this quota for calories. Apparently I don’t eat enough protein. Or carbs. Or… anything, really.”

“Hm. Is the food not to your taste, or…?”

Theon shrugged weakly. It wasn’t exactly ideal date conversation.

“I’ve just had some… food issues. Ever since what happened.”

His captor had only given food when he felt like it, usually as an incentive for ‘good behavior’, whatever that was made to mean on a given day. Even when starving Theon had always been hesitant. Food only meant he’d live longer, and the bastard always found some way to give him his ‘reward’ in the most demeaning or cruel way possible.

Ramsay looked at him appraisingly, his frosty gaze so sharp and knowing.

“I think you’ve been very good lately,” he said smoothly, not breaking eye contact. “You’ve been trying so hard, haven’t you? You deserve something nice.”

Theon’s breath caught in his throat. It felt like something primal in his brain was activating, waking up and taking notice.

“You’re going to eat everything I get for you,” Ramsay continued, slow and intent like he was casting a spell. “Because I brought you all this way to have this meal, and you’ve earned it.”

Theon swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

“Good.” Ramsay squeezed Theon’s knee under the table and beckoned the waiter over. “Don’t worry. I know just what you need.”

* * *

By the time they got to the main course Theon was having regrets. Of what exactly, he wasn’t certain. It just wasn’t looking good.

“All of it?” He asked, staring hopelessly at his steak.

He’d made it through the appetizer and the soup alright, but had begun struggling once they made it to the salad. This was just unfair now. Theon couldn’t remember the last time he’d forced down so much food in one sitting. Even though he wanted to do as he was told, his body simply wasn’t used to it.

“All of it.” Ramsay looked unabashedly entertained, all but laughing into his wine glass. “And then there’s dessert after that.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun but I don’t know if I even can,” Theon said. “Please, can’t we just-“

“I don’t like that word,” Ramsay interjected coolly, light briefly fading from his eyes. “People think that just because you tack a ‘please’ on at the front, that it _means_ something. That it changes the fact that you’re telling me what to do. It’s a bit manipulative, don’t you think?”

“ _-_ ** _hate_** _that word. You don’t ask anything of me, understand? You’re here to take what I give you. I want to see you bleed and cry and cope with it, not beg without permission.”_

“Uh,” Theon’s mind had gone blank, his body numb. A horribly familiar feeling was overtaking him, a dreadful urge to get on his knees and grovel for forgiveness. “I. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean - I didn’t know -”

“Oh look at you, you’re all worked up,” Ramsay took both of Theon’s hands in his. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m sorry,” it was all he could say, all he could think. _I’m sorry, I’msorryI’msorry-_

“Ssh.” Ramsay’s thumbs drew soothing circles on the backs of Theon’s hands. “Deep breaths, baby. You’re alright.”

Theon tried to calm himself. He was absolutely not going to break down in this restaurant. No matter how fucked up his brain or how unstable his emotions, it was not going to happen. He refused. They’d been having such a nice night overall and he was blowing it, emotion suddenly welling within him like a tide. He just couldn’t stop himself.

“This is for you. I’m looking after _you_ ,” Ramsay insisted. “It worries me to hear that you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

Guilt twisted Theon up inside. It had always driven Yara crazy to see him leave his plates out barely touched and now he was doing it to Ramsay too. Letting people down, making them worry. That seemed to be all he was good at anymore.

“I know.” He picked up his fork. “I can do it.”

“I knew you could.”

Theon fought his way through each bite, trying to listen as Ramsay talked easily about his biology classes and his hunting trips and how training the new litter of pups was going. The distraction was probably the only thing that was keeping him steady at the moment, the back of his neck breaking out into a cold sweat.

At some point he felt the strange sensation of being watched settle over him. Theon glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see a waiter standing in his periphery to inquire about their meal.

Instead his eyes met a very familiar set across the dining room.

Immediately it hit him exactly how close to the border they were, and how this was probably the largest and nicest town in the area. It made perfect sense for it to be the primary destination for couples looking for a special night out, but who didn’t want to travel as far as the city. Rationally, all of these things registered in Theon’s brain.

Yet it did nothing to calm him on the notion that Jon Snow was in this restaurant, looking at him, whilst sat across from some smoking hot redhead that looked like she could easily bench Theon’s current weight without blinking.

It was the final straw. Theon felt something in his stomach flip dangerously, his heartbeat a drum in his ears.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted again, fumbling his napkin from his lap and onto the table. “I need a minute.”

Before Ramsay could protest or ask any questions, Theon was out of his seat and making a beeline for the restrooms.

* * *

Such was how Theon found himself barricaded in a bathroom stall, dizzy but still struggling to not upend the entire meal into the toilet. He kept his eyes screwed shut and tried to focus on his breathing. In and out, in and out…

There was a light knock on the stall door.

“Theon? Are you alright?”

Nonono. No. This wasn’t happening.

“I’m not here to fight or anything, I just…” Jon trailed off, sounding almost like he was the one in pain. “You didn’t look so good back there.”

Maybe if Theon stayed quiet he’d leave.

“It was pretty impressive, the footwork you used to avoid Robb at the wedding,” Jon was clearly just trying to fill the silence now. “I hear you jumped out a window and everything.”

“It was on the ground floor, asshole,” Theon said through grit teeth, hands braced on either side of the stall.

Jon seemed to take the response as encouragement. “It was nice of you to show up anyway. I know it meant a lot to Sansa.”

A pause.

“… About Robb, you’ve made it clear you’re not ready to hash any of that out yet and that’s fine. But he really does just want to talk to you,” Jon said and _fuck_ , Theon barely contained another retch. “He’s been worried ever since we heard the news. Which was nearly three years ago, just saying.”

And there it was again, guilt and shame like acid and thorns on Theon’s insides. By tomorrow Robb would probably know that he was back in the North, that Jon had found him having an episode in a public bathroom, that he was committed to an inpatient treatment facility like the headcase he was-

Theon realized to late that his breathing had become audibly labored, bordering on panicked.

“Theon?” Jon asked, concern clear in his voice. “Shit. I didn’t mean to, like, upset you, I just- I just wanted you to know-“

He cut himself off. The door gave a mild jostle.

“Can you say something please? Open up maybe? I know we never got on, but if I’ve just given you an attack or something, I’m gonna feel like a real ass.”

Starks and their goddamn pity. Theon was drowning and choking on it.

Jon was supposed to hate him. They all were, but Jon especially since they’d never been friends to start with.

“I know it’s not my business,” Jon said. “None of it is, really, but I saw that you’re here with Ramsay Snow.”

God. Yes, Theon was dating a bastard. Jon must have found it fucking hilarious, their childhood all considered.

“I’ve no idea how you even _met_ the guy. I won’t tell you what to do, but the Boltons are bad news. You shouldn’t- “

The sound of the bathroom door swinging open cut him off.

“Now what’s this?”

Theon had never heard Ramsay’s voice take on that tone before and he never wanted to again. It was chillingly pleasant in a way that didn’t even try to sound sincere.

“… We were just talking,” Jon said carefully. Even from within the stall Theon could clearly envision his stony expression. “I’m Theon’s co-foster, Jon.”

“Ah yes. Ned Stark’s bastard. I’ve heard of you.”

“And you’re Roose Bolton’s,” Jon replied, voice aloof in the way that had always driven Theon mad when they were kids. “I’ve heard a thing or two about you as well.”

“All good things I’m sure,” Ramsay said sardonically. He side-stepped around him to tap the stall door. “Everything alright? You’ve been in there a while. Had me all sorts of concerned.”

Shit. Theon braced himself before slowly undoing the latch. He reluctantly shuffled out, his eyes trained on the tile floor.

“Sorry,” He murmured, barely audible. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“I noticed. You’ve gone all pale, you poor thing.” Ramsay lightly traced the line of his jaw. “Do I need to take you back?”

“No!” Theon’s eyes flew up to meet him. “No. I’m fine, really. I’ll be fine.”

He wasn’t going to ruin this. They’d been waiting and preparing for this weekend for two months and he was going to see it through if it killed him.

Seconds ticked by as Ramsay looked him up and down. Finally, “Alright. Come along then.”

He firmly took Theon’s hand in his and guided him to the door. Theon barely had time to twist around and address Jon over his shoulder.

“Thanks for checking on me, really. I- I’ll think about what you said, okay?”

It was all he had time for before he was pulled out the door. As it swung shut, the dark look on Jon’s face was imprinted into his mind.

* * *

After that Theon was determined to save the evening. He made his way slowly but surely through his food, ignoring his stomach’s protests, and participated in conversation as much as he could - even if it didn’t keep Ramsay’s gaze from slipping to Jon’s table right up until the moment he and his date left.

“So what was it, then?” Ramsay asked, ghostly eyes following the pair as they left the restaurant. “What was it you found _so_ important to think about?”

“Oh.” Theon toyed with his utensils. “Jon’s just trying to be noble, as always. Even if he’s probably glad as anything that I’ve been avoiding Robb.”

“Robb Stark.”

“Yeah. We were really close once. But I fucked it up, and then I _got_ fucked up, and now he feels bad and wants to… I don’t even know what he wants.” Theon sighed. “I’m not ready for any of it.”

“Hm.” Ramsay’s expression was downright unreadable. “Probably for the best.”

“You don’t think I’m being a coward?”

“You’re trying to move on, aren’t you? Look how worked up you got just from spotting his brother across a room,” Ramsay said. “I don’t think seeing him would be good for you.”

It was hard to argue when he put it like that. Maybe someday he and Robb could get that closure, but right now… Theon probably couldn’t handle it.

“Maybe not.”

“Besides, Robb was close with the _old_ you,” Ramsay continued. “What on earth would you two have in common now?”

It stung to hear. For years Robb had been all Theon really had, and the realization that their friendship was probably forever done and buried even _if_ they came to terms was… well. A painful truth.

“Don’t be sad, sweetling.” Ramsay moved their chairs closer together. “It’s a good thing, to move forward. It may be difficult at first, but you’ll be so much happier without all those old chains weighing you down.”

He felt the toe of Ramsay’s shoe nudge his ankle before sliding up the length of his calf.

“You won’t be going it alone. We’re doing this together, yes?”

Theon’s breathing hitched as he nodded.

“Of course.”

And because sometimes life was good after all, that was how Theon wound up straddling his boyfriend’s hips and snogging him in the driver’s seat of that ludicrously expensive car. Thank the gods for tinted windows.

“What is it with you and scars?” Theon asked breathlessly as he arched into Ramsay’s touch, shirt long flung into the abyss of the backseat.

“Mm?” Ramsay sucked another hickey into a dark stain of once-flayed skin. “Feeling self-conscious, are we?”

Theon tried to glare but it was a bit hard to do whilst biting back a moan. “I am very, _ah_ , justified, if I am.”

“Tch. Perfection is overrated. It’s boring.” Ramsay pointedly pressed his groin up against the seat of Theon’s trousers. “Do I feel bored to you?”

Theon’s mouth went dry. He was fairly sure that if he were any more red he’d be glowing.

“It’s not a matter of being bored.”

“It is to me. Scars tell a story, don’t they? They show where something left its mark on you, forever.” He ran his tongue over a raised ‘x’ that had been drawn on Theon’s skin with a hot poker. “It turned you into art.”

“Except that _it_ was a _he._ ” Theon felt the leather seat squeak beneath his tightening grip. “That’s why I hate them. He… he ruined me, don’t you see that? I’ve got his fingerprints burned into every part of me. All across my body - even my fucking _mind_ is just a big goddamn scar. Because of him.”

The unfairness and despair of it all was enough to overwhelm him some days. The awful feeling that his body was not his own, that some vital piece of his personhood had been taken from him that he’d never get back.

“Even when he’s gone, even when he’s long forgotten about me, I’m never going to be the same,” Theon choked. “Everyday for the rest of my life, I’m going to think about him. He remade me, and no matter how much I improve I’ll never- I’ll never be free of it and it’s not fucking _fair_ -”

His tirade was severed by the violent intrusion of his boyfriend’s mouth on his. Ramsay was kissing him like a starving man, like he could lap the words right off of Theon’s tongue and swallow them down. His hands were clutching Theon’s pale hips hard enough to bruise. Theon didn’t even care if it was an attempt to assure him or abort a second breakdown, because on both accounts it worked.

After a small eternity they broke apart for air, still desperately grasping each other for purchase.

“I’m going to take you home now,” Ramsay said, his voice a tenuous calm. “And you won’t be leaving my bed until I’m through with you.”

The look in his eyes brokered no argument, pupils yawning wide and bottomless. Not that Theon was inclined to protest.

“Whatever you want,” he said hoarsely.

Ramsay’s grip tightened. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Oh yeah?” Theon lightly pressed their foreheads together. “Should I be worried?”

Ramsay only grinned in response, kissing him again but with more restraint.

“Sit down and buckle your seatbelt.”

Theon felt almost giddy as he did what he was told, heart racing as the car gained speed into the night. _He wants me_ was playing on repeat in his mind because for the first time he finally comprehended it to be true. Scars and damage and all, Ramsay Snow wanted him.

Maybe fate was real after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theon: I’m forever changed and traumatized by my abduction and will never fully recover :(  
> Ramsay: That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard


	3. Chapter 3

The drive from Long Lake to the Bolton estate was a long and winding one, carving through the mountains on a thin and sparsely traveled road. The woods were dense and endless, with icy waterfalls and rivers intermittently spilling down the cliffs. So far North and at such high altitude, the summits bore snow all year round.

Places like this had always made Theon feel especially out of his element. There were no mountains in the islands, certainly no forests that stretched so far you couldn’t find the sea. Yet it was very characteristically Ramsay, for reasons Theon couldn’t quite define. The trees, the cliffs, the frost… Ramsay looked like he belonged here.

The Bolton house took Theon by surprise when they finally came upon it. It seemed to emerge from nowhere, unveiled at the end of a very long straight-shot drive through what seemed like untamed woods. It was a proper _estate_ too. The Stark house had housed its family for countless generations, but Theon understood that it had undergone extensive renovations over time. Gone were any servants’ quarters, kennels or stables, with the property gradually transforming into a modern, if large, family home.

The Bolton house had clearly opted for restoration over renovation. Built from clean lines of stone, it was large but squat in shape. The windows were narrow and widely spaced, as for a fortress that still thought it necessary to be defensible.

“Fuck,” Theon muttered, craning his neck to fully peer at it through the windshield. “Waiting for the undead to lay siege or something?”

“Some of us have an appreciation for history,” Ramsay said, killing the engine. They had come to park in what was probably some converted carriage house, with other glitzy cars already lined up within.

“Uh huh. Real talk, how haunted is your house?”

“I’m sure that depends on who you ask.”

At that moment something awful occurred to Theon, a memory from his time with the Starks. “Ramsay. Tell me your ancestors are not buried beneath the house.”

Ramsay only smiled before opening the car door. “Did you pack enough for the weekend?”

Oh god. “You bloody Northerners are _insane_!”

“And you’re awful skittish for an Ironborn.”

“Skit-“ Theon rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the car. “It’s fucking ghastly no matter where you’re from!”

What was with old Northern families and wanting to keep their dead at their doorstep? Theon had never understood it. All Ironborn funerals were more or less the same regardless of status, with the only real difference being the sort of ship your ashes were scattered from. It was much more elegant way of doing things, in his opinion, and it kept tales of the supernatural confined to the ocean where they belonged.

“It’s an old house, Theon. Lots of things happened.” Ramsay grabbed Theon’s bag from the backseat and slung it over shoulder. “People died here. People got buried here. So what?”

“Fine, fine.”

Theon took Ramsay’s hand with a grumble as they began the trek up the path. He could hear the nearby rumbling of the Weeping Water river from beyond the trees, in symphony with the call of nighttime insects. Glow flies blinked in and out of sight.

“…Was it a lot?”

“Hm?”

“The people who died here.”

“Oh,” Ramsay said lightly. “I’m not sure anyone’s ever bothered to keep count.”

The carriage house-turned-garage was a light distance from the house proper, with the path winding about the property before curving around the side of the building. There was a godswood on site, which was likely to be expected for a big old house like this, but did little for Theon's heightened nerves.

The heart tree on the Stark property had been grim enough, but the face of the Bolton weirwood looked like it was actively suffering.

“Fucking hell, that’s terrifying.”

“Ha! Think so?” Ramsay examined it with a tilt of his head. “Be worse if it were smiling, I reckon. Hard to be afraid of something that’s screaming.”

“Hng. I guess. Are you religious?”

“Not especially. Although as far as faiths go we could do worse,” Ramsay said. “There’s something compelling, in concept, about the forest being alive and watching.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you.”

Theon looked around the godswood with a shiver. He had never been a fan of the forest, even before everything that happened, but he found himself charmed by the way Ramsay seemed to see it. Through his eyes the wilderness of the North was a place of savage beauty, and he moved through it with such confidence that it was almost contagious.

But the Hornwood wasn’t far from here. That had been where they’d found him, in a cellar beneath a cabin lost amidst miles of nothing but trees. Any lead on the culprit had promptly gone cold once the land's owner was identified as one of the other victims - captured and killed somewhere in the endless expanse of her own property.

“Doing alright?”

Theon shuddered. “The woods put me on edge. I feel more like prey than predator out here.”

“Oh yeah?” Ramsay grinned. “I’m quite the hunter, you know. If I catch you does that make you mine?”

“It won’t be much of a sport. I don’t know if you’ve seen me run lately, but it’s a pretty sad sight.”

“Aw. I’ll have to get my fun through some other means then.”

Ramsay's hand started to roam only for Theon to fight it off.

“Dude- your gods are like, watching-“

“Let them watch. It’s the most excitement they’ve likely had in an age, they ought to be grateful,” Ramsay said. “A Northman claiming an Ironborn, as well. They’re probably well entertained.”

Shame mixed with arousal in Theon’s chest. “You’re awful.”

Ramsay cruelly pinched his cheek. “And you need to learn respect.”

Theon supposed there was no arguing that.

"Mind getting me in a bed first before we commit some kind of sacrilege?"

" _Fine_ ," Ramsay pulled him further along the path. "A bed for the princess."

As they left, another chill blew through the godswood. The leaves of the heart tree rustled like paper hands, its wailing face frozen in unending pain.

* * *

Theon was convinced that no one was actually meant to feel comfortable in this house, least of all the guests.

It was hard to describe exactly why everything felt so stiff inside. Like a furniture showroom, lavish but unlived in. The thick walls and lack of proper windows made the entire building feel like a tomb, which was not a pleasant thought given what Theon now knew about the property.

The staff matched the estate: polite and accommodating on the surface, but perpetually aloof and tense. Their eyes were unreadable as they followed Theon’s trajectory through the halls. He tugged self-consciously on his rumpled shirt, which he’d hastily done up in the car on the way over. It was probably not hard to discern what he and their boss’ son had been doing, and what they were about to do, especially on tonight of all nights.

The Old Theon hadn’t even known the meaning of embarrassment, but nowadays it seemed to be all he knew.

“Is your dad not home?” Theon asked as he was herded down another labyrinthian hall.

“Took my stepmom to some retreat for the weekend. It’s just us.”

“Along with all your staff.”

“What do they count for?”

Ramsay’s bedroom was in some far corner of the building and on its own was the size of a small apartment. There was a controlled chaos to it that suggested the maids didn’t often come inside, which left it feeling a bit more settled in. There was a fire going in the corner and the king size bed was made, so maybe the staff were just on instruction to not touch anything more than necessary.

As with the rest of the house the windows were too long and thin to fit through, but probably perfect for sniping enemy intruders. Theon counted his blessings that there were windows at all. The journey through the halls had begun to activate his claustrophobia.

Once the bedroom door swung shut warm hands were running up his sides, fingers skimming skin as they loosed the clumsily done-up buttons.

“Should’ve just left it off,” Ramsay murmured.

Theon shuddered. “You know why I can’t.”

A scoff as the shirt was slipped from his shoulders. “You have nothing to hide.”

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to make me feel better or if you’re actually crazy.”

“So cynical.”

The breath evacuated Theon’s chest as he was pushed back onto the bed.

Okay. This was happening. It was fine. Theon wanted this. It didn’t matter that the last (and first) time he went all the way with a man had been under the worst circumstances possible. That didn’t _count_ , alright? Theon deserved to have this, to have it _properly_ , and-

His thoughts were snuffed out by the sound of his trousers being unzipped.

He was never going to get used to being seen naked. He could scarcely manage to be naked when alone, for fuck’s sake. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he could find nothing false in Ramsay’s excitement as the other man freed him of his clothing. Theon was grateful to be on his back, which combined with the lighting to ensure his rattled mind didn’t forget where he was or who he was with.

“There you are,” Ramsay exhaled happily as he discarded Theon’s trousers onto the floor. “Beautiful.”

Theon didn’t know if he ought to laugh or sob. There was nothing beautiful about the mess of scars that mapped his body. The cuts, the burns, the uneven skin where he’d been flayed. He was missing three fingers, two toes and almost all of his cock, there was no beauty here.

“Aw. He doesn’t believe me.” Ramsay tsked his tongue in a show of disappointment. “My boy doesn’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this? What I’ve been imagining I’d do once I got my hands on him again?”

Theon’s breathing became labored at the sight of Ramsay lubing up his fingers.

“Now that,” Ramsay said, hiking Theon’s thighs apart, “is a damn shame.”

The sting of being entered mingled with the insistent rub and slide of Ramsay’s fingers, probing and searching within him. It wasn’t especially gentle, but Theon didn’t much mind.

He was actually so damn sick of everyone being gentle with him. Sick of being treated like broken glass, ruined and fragile. Maybe he wanted to be handled a little roughly, if only because it proved that someone thought he could take it. Theon didn’t want to feel like glass, he wanted to feel like iron. Most of all he wanted to feel _real_.

“You’re opening up so well for me,” Ramsay said, fingers thrusting in a steady pace. “You’ve been waiting for this too, haven’t you? Fucking desperate for it.”

“God, yes,” Theon barely recognized his own voice. It felt like a great weight had settled on his chest, choking the air from his lungs.

“It’s been too long since you got any cock in you, I can tell. Poor baby.” Ramsay gave a particularly cruel twist of his fingers. “I’ll take care of you.”

He slipped his fingers from Theon’s body and finally began to shed his own clothing. Talking about beautiful - Ramsay was the one with the muscled arms and broad shoulders, the endless expanse of flawless fair skin. Theon greedily drank in the sight of him, want singing in his veins.

“I can see your slit getting wet for me,” Ramsay said, raking his gaze across Theon’s body. “Someone’s eager.”

Theon slung his arm over his face. “Oh my god. Just fuck me before I die of shame already.”

“But I like you this way. You’re blushing like a virgin.” Fingers traced Theon’s lips. “You ever please a man with that sweet mouth of yours?”

Theon’s face must have been lit up like a match. “N-no. I haven’t.”

“Then that’s something else for me to take. Later though,” Ramsay slung Theon’s legs around his hips. “First things first.”

_Something else?_

All thought swiftly vacated his mind at the sensation of Ramsay easing his way into Theon’s body. A groan escaped Theon’s chest at the feeling, the natural heat with the friction of skin on skin deep inside him.

“Gods, you feel like a virgin too,” Ramsay grunted, his hands forming a bruising vice. “Been waiting for me to break you in, is that it?”

Oh fuck. At this point Theon didn’t know what would kill him first - the overstimulation of being touched or the heatstroke from his own flush.

Once Ramsay was confident that Theon wasn’t going to panic or tell him to stop, he quickly hit his stride with a rather harsh and fervent pace. Theon had no protests to give, not when each hard thrust to his prostate had him damn near spasming, his body as starved and eager for attention as ever. He wanted to be touched everywhere, all at once, and for it to never stop. He instinctively arched into each snap of the other man’s hips, increasingly desperate to feel _more_ , to touch more, and to make up for all the lost time.

Filth poured freely from Ramsay’s lips like the man had never even learned the definition of shame. He didn’t hesitate to wrench Theon’s arm from his face, pinning it above his head to the mattress.

“None of that,” he said, his sweet tone a direct contrast to the punishing rut he’d set.

He then moved to bracket Theon’s body more fully, laying biting kisses in quick succession along his collar. Theon took a deep breath and almost instantly his body reacted, organs seeming to flip and roll in on themselves.

The musk of sweat, sex and the natural scent of Ramsay’s skin mingled together, forming something that was too dreadfully familiar. That wasn’t right, it couldn’t be right, the scenes didn’t match - he was on a soft bed, not a hard floor, and he was in the arms of his boyfriend instead of… instead-

No. No no, he was not going to dissociate here. He was not going to wreck this, not when Ramsay had already put up with so much of his nonsense already.

And yet when Theon closed his eyes he could imagine it so clearly in his brain. His treacherous, needy mind spun a forbidden scene, wondering at how it might be if He had ever laid Theon somewhere soft and held him so tight; if He could have whispered hot words in Theon’s ear, telling him he was good before kissing him so firm but sweet-

Theon’s climax struck without warning, his cry swallowed down by Ramsay’s lips.

Ramsay responded with a growl, grip somehow tightening as his pace became ever more brutal, chasing his own pleasure with abandon before finally spilling inside Theon’s body.

For several minutes there was nothing but the sounds of heavy breathing, the feeling of being wet and full as sweat cooled on fevered skin.

Then there was shame. Theon had come whilst imagining his boyfriend was someone else. Not just someone, but the _worst_ one. Oh god.

Ramsay sighed before playfully knocking their foreheads together. “Everything alright?”

Theon nodded shakily, even though he wished the Storm God could have struck him down right then and there.

* * *

It took a few minutes for Theon to fully calm down, lying breathless and still in the dark. Thankfully Ramsay was distracted, finally pulling out and fumbling at the bedside for some tissues. He wiped the slick from Theon’s thighs with open fascination, fondling his balls and prodding at his scar.

By the time Ramsay collapsed beside him, Theon had opted to completely board up that dangerous portion of his psyche for a later therapy session. Nothing to see here, carry on, good day.

“You’re sure I didn’t break you?” Ramsay asked with a poke. “You seem out of it.”

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s just been a while.”

“Ah.” Ramsay watched him, frosty eyes gleaming in the dim firelight. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Theon said. “But I guess it was already obvious.”

It took a brief moment for Ramsay to catch his meaning. “So that really was the first time since you… escaped, yes?”

Theon scoffed. “Escaped. Sure.”

“How else would you describe it?”

“I dunno. Not like that.”

Were they really going to talk about this? Theon was too addled to discern whether it’d be for the better or worse if they did.

“It’s not a very elaborate story. He always kept me sedated to high heaven, but I guess after two months I’d built up a tolerance. One day when he wasn’t paying attention I was able to get a hold of one of the knives on the table.” Theon traced the thin scars on his wrists. “It just felt like something I had to do.”

“To leave him,” Ramsay said stoically.

_“Don’t you dare! You don’t get to die on me you wretched creature, you don’t get to go_ **_anywhere_ ** _until I say so-“_

“I guess,” Theon mumbled into the sheets. “I wanted the pain to stop. Plus he had already gotten in my head, talking about how worthless and used up I was…”

He rolled over, resting himself against Ramsay’s bare chest. The thud of his heartbeat accompanied the rise and fall of his breathing, creating a soothing rhythm.

“It felt like something was going to happen, like a storm about to break. He wasn’t bringing in any new girls, and he was acting… I don’t know, different. I was sure he was going to kill me at any moment, and finally I just couldn’t wait anymore.” He curled tighter against his boyfriend’s warmth, seeking security. “But the thing is, he could have let me die that day. By the time they found me they say someone had already bandaged me up to slow the bleeding. I know there’s no proof, but I think he might have even been the one to tip off the authorities about where I was.”

_“-to me, I will_ **_find_ ** _you. No matter where you go or how far you run on those hobbled feet of yours, you are_ **_mine_ ** _.”_

He wasn’t sure if it was a memory or a dream.

“Sometimes I wonder about him,” Theon murmured. “What he’s doing now. Why he took me. I was the only man he ever took, you know? As far as anyone can tell. And he kept me alive, when all the others…”

He shrank further beneath the covers. Ramsay had gone so still beside him.

“Do you suppose he ever thinks about me?”

“… Do you want him to?”

Theon froze. He felt caught, fear and shame mingling in his chest. He should hope and pray that psychopath had long forgotten Theon even existed, that he never spared another moment’s thought for him again. And yet.

And yet the idea that someone could do that, could take Theon’s whole life away without a single ounce of care or meaning, that they could change him forever without Theon leaving any impact in return, that he was truly just an interchangeable and disposable piece of meat… it was somehow worse.

When he spoke his voice was a barely audible whisper, more air than voice. “Yes.”

If it were anyone else he made this admission to - his sister, his therapist - they’d be getting him on a prescription. Ramsay only looked at him, pale gaze heated and intent.

“Oh _sweetheart_.” Ramsay wrapped a possessive hand around the back of his neck. “You precious thing. How could he not?”

* * *

Once Ramsay was satisfied he wasn’t going to “break” it was like open season on Theon’s poor body. There were numerous times in the night where Theon slipped out of consciousness only to be brought back by the press of Ramsay’s cock or fingers into his abused hole, the sting and ache of teeth burying themselves into his neck or thighs, or the stroke of a warm tongue on his swollen flesh.

He wasn’t certain Ramsay ever went to sleep at all, yet the man was awake and content as could be in the morning. Theon lay sore and exhausted in his arms, barely cognizant.

“I thought I was the one who had the years-long dry spell,” He croaked, throat dry from a night of breathless moans and pants. “What happened to you? I feel like one giant hickey.”

“You love it.” Ramsay kissed his temple. “Still in one piece? You exerted yourself quite a bit.”

“Whose fault would that be? I’ll be lucky if I can walk straight by Monday.”

“I won’t apologize. I’ve been waiting to have you again since our first night together.” Ramsay began to reverently touch the various marks on Theon’s body. “You knew that.”

“You told me, but I didn’t really believe you.” Theon picked at the sheet as Ramsay lovingly traced the ghost of a knife wound. “I was actually thinking about getting them removed. As much as can be, I guess.”

Ramsay tensed. “What?”

“You know, cosmetic surgery. Skin grafts. That kind of thing.” Theon shrugged. “We’ve looked into it.”

“To have them _erased_? Just like that?” Ramsay demanded.

“Well-“

“You can’t.”

Theon blinked. Ramsay looked almost angry.

“Taking them away won’t take away what happened. They’re part of you.”

“Well, yeah, but… I would also like to be able to look at myself again,” Theon said quietly. “I’d like to be able to take my shirt off at the beach or pool without having a panic attack.”

“You’re not just going to magically accept yourself because you let some hack go at you with a scalpel,” Ramsay said. “There’s nothing wrong with your body, and that’s something you need to figure out yourself. What else are you paying that therapist for?”

“Rams-”

“Or was it your sister’s idea? Is it easier on _her_ if she can see you patched up and pretend they were never there?”

“Whoa, whoa, hey. My sister wouldn’t pressure me into this,” Theon said. “It’s just an idea.”

“It’s a shit idea. You don’t need to change and you sure as hell don’t need to go back to being what you were before,” Ramsay said, his eyes pure ice. “You won’t do it.”

“I… alright.” To say Theon felt taken aback would’ve been an understatement. “Wow. I didn’t realize this was such a thing. You and your kinks again? I guess it’s true what they say about bastards and being deprave- _Fuck!”_

His words turned into a sharp yelp, drowned out by the deafening slap to his rear. It wasn’t a love tap either - if that blow had been to his face instead, he’d be on the floor right now.

“Don’t be rude,” Ramsay said, sweet as pie. Yet there was a strange, almost feral quality to him that had Theon going pale.

“S-sorry.” Theon stuttered, rubbing at the area that was sure to bruise. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean-“

“Of course you didn’t. And you won’t be disrespectful again, will you?”

He frantically shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.”

Ramsay coolly surveyed him for another moment. Then he blinked, and all warmth was back in his gaze.

“Come here.”

Theon barely stifled a whimper as he crowded himself into Ramsay’s arms. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but he was shaking like a leaf and desperate to be reassured.

“Ssh. It’s alright. You’re forgiven,” Ramsay said, his voice a gentle coo in Theon’s ear. “It’s only because I care so much. You know that, don’t you? I hate to see you hating yourself. I hate to think of you doing things that aren’t good for you, turning you into something you don’t want to be.”

Theon shivered, curling tighter against Ramsay’s body. “It just doesn’t make sense. What you feel for me doesn’t make any goddamn sense, I’m not good enough for anybody in this state-“

“Hush. You don’t know what you’re saying. You just have to trust me, alright? I know what I’m talking about.”

“Okay,” Theon breathed him in, smelling that musk that felt so, so painfully familiar. “Okay.”

* * *

It was nearly noon when they finally dragged themselves out of the bed for a shared shower and late brunch.

Theon told himself it was his imagination, and that it wasn’t like he was a bloodhound who could tell the scents of different people apart anyway. Men in bed probably just smelled some type of way, it wasn’t like he had the greatest wealth of experience in the area.

“I thought I’d show you around,” Ramsay said, leading him down twisting stairs and windowless hallways. “There’s a fair amount to see out here.”

“Yeah? Gonna take me to all your secret places?”

“Well, not _all_ of them. A man needs to keep some of his mystery.”

They started by doing the rounds about the Bolton estate. As they passed through the stables Ramsay introduced Theon to ‘his boys’ - a collection of rough-looking men who worked for Roose Bolton. They didn’t exchange many words, but their eyes followed Theon with disquieting interest. He was grateful to leave them behind.

They eventually wound up in the kennels, which resembled one of those ridiculous luxury dog hotels the Starks used when they went on vacation. Theon had always roasted the hell out of them for being more for the owner’s benefit than the beasts’.

Ramsay showed him to a glossy stall overrun with wriggling black pups, all yipping and climbing over themselves in their excitement. He made some kind of gesture and the pups all quickly settled, watching him with their eyes bright and tails wagging.

“Wow. You’re good at that.”

“It’s pretty basic. Dogs want order. They fall into line by instinct if you’re consistent enough.” A pause. “People too, really.”

“Are you going to keep them all?”

“Most of them, the females especially. All my hunters are bitches. We leave them intact for later breeding, but don’t keep many studs here,” Ramsay said. “The males are easier to train after they’re gelded. Keeps them out of trouble. Works wonders on their temperament too.”

“I heard that hunting was a big deal out here. I’ve never really seen it though,” Theon said. “I’ve done bow-fishing before, but I don’t think I could like… shoot an actual animal.”

“Never know until you try,” Ramsay said. “I’ll take you out with me sometime.”

“Oh, I’m not sure-“

They were cut off by a sudden din of barking and the drum of heavy paws, with at least a dozen massive black hounds pouring through the kennel entrance. Theon flinched hard, his back knocking into Ramsay’s chest.

“Easy,” Ramsay said with a laugh, arms wrapping around his waist. “It’s only the pack. They must’ve wrapped their morning exercises.”

“It’s fine,” Theon said uneasily, still cringing at the volume of their barks and yelps. “It’s just that he kept dogs, back at the- back where I-“

Theon had never seen the hounds, but they’d certainly sounded large as they bayed and howled into the night… and when they raced off into the distance after screaming women.

“Shh, it’s alright. They’ll settle in once they start eating. They’re just-”

“Hungry.” A young woman had arrived along with the hounds, a handful of dummy birds slung into the crook of her arm. She deposited them roughly into a nearby crate. “Easier to keep them motivated that way.”

“… Right.” Ramsay’s grip on Theon’s waist momentarily tightened. “Theon, this is Myranda. She helps with the dogs.”

“Oh. Nice to meet you,” Theon said with a polite nod. “Theon Greyjoy.”

“Myranda Bones.” She was looking at him with hard moss-green eyes, a stern set to her brow. “Ramsay, a word? It’s about the new mutt you’ve taken on.”

“I can’t imagine what needs to be said,” Ramsay said coolly. “I told you I was handling it myself.”

“It’s a bad gamble. The returns won’t be worth the cost,” Myranda said. “You should’ve just put it down when you had the chance.”

“That’s not your call to make,” Ramsay said, false patience dripping from every word. “I think you’re just sore that I kept him to myself. You’re not entitled to play with all my things, you know.”

Myranda snorted. “You’re sinking time and effort into something that’s never going to turn out. You should cut your losses already. What’s so special about one kicked dog? You never thought any of the bitches were worth the trouble.”

“When I want your opinion on what I should or shouldn’t do, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“It’s just odd. You’ve always had your scent hounds, but I never knew you to keep house pets. Has your father heard?”

A steely silence fell over them.

“Theon, love,” Ramsay said. “Why don’t you play with the pups for a minute. Apparently Ms. Bones and I need to have a conversation.”

“Uh, sure-“ Theon barely had time to react before he was being pushed into the kennel stall, the door latching shut behind him.

As soon as Ramsay was out of sight the puppies came alive with activity once more, yipping and clambering up Theon’s legs for attention. He sank down to the floor with a sigh, letting them toddle over him. It was hard to imagine such small, sweet creatures growing up into bloodthirsty beasts. Theon supposed it came down to how they were reared. Maybe conditioning and breeding was all anything was.

That girl had sure given him the evil eyes. It was far from the first time Theon had gotten such a glare from a woman, but usually not from one he’d never met. God, at least he hoped they’d never met.

As time wore on, Theon’s bad leg began to protest the hard floor. He shooed the pups off of him and stiffly ambled to his feet. It took a few minutes of awkwardly fumbling his fingers through the door slats to undo the latch, but at last he was able to slip out.

The rest of the grown hounds had thankfully calmed, snouts buried in their food bowls or huge forms lying panting in their beds. None of them paid Theon any attention as he wandered down the passage to the open doorway. A cool breeze was blowing, bringing with it the scents of the outdoors.

“-made me spend Promise Night alone,” Myranda’s voice filtered from around the bend, some ways beyond the kennel exit. “I thought you’d at least sneak out to see me…”

“You thought wrong.”

“Because you were so busy with your new toy. I’m truly worried about you, Ramsay.”

“You’re jealous, is what you are. I’ve made my feelings clear on the matter. I’m not yours and you’ve got no right to be sour about what I do. If you’re going to keep boring me with your outbursts-“

“ _Boring_?” Myranda spluttered. “I’m sorry, would you prefer that I was some broken, simpering cur that rolled over at your beck and call? You want me to lick your shoes and kiss your hand? ‘Thank you sir may I have another’?”

“It would be a nice change of pace.”

“Ha. You’re a liar.” Myranda’s voice took on a softer, more sultry tone. “I know you. I know what you like. I’m the only one who does and isn’t scared of you. That’s why we always got on, remember? All those games and good times we’ve had?”

“I remember,” Ramsay said. “It doesn’t change anything. Don’t interfere, Myranda. My patience with you only extends so far.”

“You’re being ridiculous. What are you even doing? I can’t figure out your endgame.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Well what about me, then? Ever since your sister was born I’ve been waiting-“

“Myranda.” Ramsay’s voice was like iron. “Don’t.”

“Your father is never going to come around, Ramsay. Give it up and we can have a life of our own, like we talked about!”

“I said _don’t._ ”

Theon hastily backed away from the doorway, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to lock himself back into the kennel stall. He then proceeded to do his best show of acting casual whilst knee-deep in puppies.

Meanwhile a terrible feeling had seeped into his chest. It felt progressively like he was missing some vital piece of the puzzle, and he was no longer sure how much of that was his own paranoia and dubious mental health. Clearly Ramsay and Myranda had a history, but there was no reason to be concerned, right? After all Ramsay had shut her down, had stayed in bed with Theon throughout the night despite the viability of other options. So why did Theon still feel like he was being deceived somehow?

He jumped at the sharp rap of knuckles on the stall door.

“Aw. Comfortable?” Ramsay was leaning against the door, looking down at him with amusement. “Maybe I should leave you in. You look rather at home there.”

“I think you’re overestimating my durability,” Theon said. “Unless you’re going to install a proper chair in here.”

“I’ll file it under advisement.” Ramsay opened the stall. “Out you get, pup.”

“Where’s Myranda?”

“Went for lunch.”

Theon frowned as he sidled back into the open room. He probably shouldn’t pry, but…

“She’s your ex, isn’t she?”

Ramsay was quiet for a moment as he re-locked the stall. “Yes.”

“Were you together a while?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“So that’s a yes. How long?”

Ramsay gave him a warning look. “It’s not the way you’re thinking. She’s the kennel master’s daughter, she’s always been around. But we were never exclusive.”

“But you’ve known her since you were kids.”

“I suppose.”

God, Theon was dealing with a bitter childhood friend. That explained the death glare and then some.

“She’s… she’s pretty,” Theon said weakly. “And you guys must have a lot in common.”

“Maybe.” Ramsay leaned against one of the stalls and surveyed him, eyes pale and distant like winter stars. “But that’s not what I want. We’ve had our fun together, it’s true. However, I’ve found that there’s nothing fully satisfying about someone too similar to oneself.”

“I don’t follow.”

Ramsay sighed impatiently. “She’s… aggressive. Pushy. Demanding. I find it very exhausting.”

"Is that why you broke up?"

“We were never really together in the first place. As I told you before, I don’t really date. Or I didn’t.”

“What changed?” Theon winced at Ramsay’s pointed look. “I’m not digging for compliments or some big declaration okay? I am genuinely baffled. I’m not a catch. I’m barely a functional human being. I know I’m more trouble than I’m worth-“

“You don’t know what you’re worth,” Ramsay said plainly. “If you had the first clue regarding what you’re worth to me, we would not be having this conversation.”

Theon choked on his own saliva, flushing hard. “That’s not- god fucking dammit, Ramsay-“

“You’re so excitable,” Ramsay teased, pulling him in by his hips. “And you worry too much. I knew from the moment we met that I had to have you. Ever since you’ve proven me right.”

“I’m still confused. You really confuse me.”

“That’s alright.” Ramsay kissed his forehead. “You’ll learn.”

* * *

Time quickly became a blur of sex, food and lazing together while various movies played in the background.

Theon supposed it would’ve been overly optimistic to think that their first weekend together would go off completely without a hitch, and that it was at least good to have any dramatics out of the way early. His shaken brain was just out to make things difficult for him, per usual, and familiar scents or touches could be listed alongside those eerily similar canine howls as things to be dismissed. It was a new day.

He pondered on this as he pulled a fresh change of clothes out of his overnight bag. The faucet was running in the bathroom as Ramsay shaved (with a straight razor too, bloody hell). Theon blamed his distracted state when he fumbled his things, causing his phone to miss his pocket and skitter to the floor.

He got on his knees with a curse, feeling blindly under the bed. He froze when his fingers brushed something with the characteristic feel of varnished wood. Curiosity getting the better of him, he pulled it out by his fingertips.

It was a box. Large and flat, with a leather handle and a silver latch. Theon shot a glance in the direction of the bathroom, where the faucet was still running.

Before he had even given himself time to think about it, he was undoing the latch and lifting it open.

Instantly he felt as if all his organs had flopped free from his body to splatter the floor. He didn’t know how long he’d sat there staring. It must have been a while, because the bathroom had gone quiet and there were footsteps drawing near.

“What are you… ah.”

“Do you-“ Theon swallowed roughly. “Do you collect knives?”

He could barely look at them. The light caught on the flawless steel, burning stars into his eyes. Rows upon rows of them, all slightly different curves and types, nestled into their custom slots.

“I-“

“This is a _lot_ of knives.”

“It is.”

“These can’t all be for hunting.” Could they? Some of them were pretty small, but Theon didn’t know shit about hunting.

Ramsay rubbed the back of his neck, looking exasperated. “… They’re for sex.”

“They’re for _what?”_

“I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“Tell me what? That- oh my god.” Theon took a large step back. “I joked about it, but- fuck. You’re actually a sadist, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be upset.”

Theon laughed, high and unnatural. “Upset? Me? Why would I be upset? My boyfriend is a sadist who hides his fucking kinks from me. Did you- did you even like what we did last night?”

“Of course I did.”

“But it’s boring to you, right? Compared to what you usually do, what you’re _into_ , sex with me is boring.” Theon rubbed at his face, as if it would wake him up from this dream. “And you weren’t going to say anything.”

“You’re making a big deal out of this,” Ramsay said with deliberate calm. “It’s nothing.”

“A man does not buy shit like this for nothing!” Theon snapped with an angry gesture at the box. “This isn’t just cuffs and paddles Ramsay, this is the real fucking deal! The you-have-to-go-to-specialty-websites-to-find-porn-of-it type of shit!”

“Do not raise your voice at me.”

Theon knew he was freaking out but he couldn’t help it. Ramsay was his first sexual partner in three years, the first person to touch him since his body was all but destroyed. Theon had laid himself bare and been stupid enough to think someone found him desirable, only to learn that Ramsay had been just, what, making do? Holding back?

Myranda had probably indulged Ramsay in all sorts of freaky shit, when meanwhile Theon could barely work up the courage to hold his goddamn hand in public.

“Too similar to you, you said,” Theon recited. “Myranda’s a sadist too, isn’t she. That’s what you really meant. Was it a knife fight every time you two went to bed together? Is that why you broke up? I expect that would be pretty ’ _exhausting_ ’. ”

“What exactly are you mad about here?” Ramsay asked, brow arched. “I can’t help the way I am. And I thought I was pretty good to you besides.”

“I’m not- I’m not mad.” Even Theon wasn’t sure of the emotions he was feeling right then, but he at least recognized that anger was probably unfair. “I’m _upset_. I’m upset that I’m a broken wreck. I’m upset that I’m _weak_ , that you hid this from me because you _know_ it, and that I can’t fully please the one person in the world who still finds me worth fucking!”

He shrank in on himself, face buried in his knees.

“I hate this. I hate that everyone has to treat me with fucking kid gloves because they’re afraid I’ll have a breakdown. Most of all I hate that they’re probably _right_.” Theon curled even tighter. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Ramsay sighed heavily, easing himself onto the floor and closing the box.

“For the record, I wasn’t really keeping it a secret. It just didn’t feel appropriate to bring up.”

Well. That probably made sense.

“And I did enjoy what we did. I thought my inability to keep my mouth off of you all night might’ve been an indicator.”

Suddenly Theon was hiding his face for a different reason. “Oh my god.”

“You can forget what you saw, alright? It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Ramsay said gently. “Even before you, I hardly ever used the damn things.”

“I just want to make you happy,” Theon said miserably. “I know I don’t have a lot to offer so I at least want to make you feel good. I’m a few years of therapy away from knives, but. Maybe someday you could… tie me up or something? With the lights on? And some hitting is probably okay-“

He raised his head from his knees to see Ramsay looking at him with distinct amusement.

“You are too fucking cute.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m baring my goddamn soul to you right now, asshole.”

“I know. It’s very hot.”

“You son of a bitch-“

Ramsay pulled him closer so that the pair of them were entangled on the floor. “You don’t get it. I love when you make yourself vulnerable for me. When you put yourself at my mercy, especially knowing how hard that is for you. It’s a rush I could never get from some pain slut, and let me tell you I’ve tried.”

“Oh. Well.” Theon cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”

Ramsay laughed. “I’ll still take you up on those other offers though. Y’know, ‘someday’.”

“Yeah.” Theon nestled his head in the crook of Ramsay’s shoulder. “Sure.”

“Now on your feet. There’ll be food downstairs and I don’t want your therapist thinking I haven’t been taking care of you.”

There was just one thing that Theon couldn't lay to rest. It was burned into his brain.

As soon as Ramsay left for the walk-in closet to change, Theon's hands were back on the infamous box. He opened it cautiously, feeling like a criminal, and gazed at the assortment of blades before him. There was just one, in the far left corner, that he couldn’t get out of his head. He touched it delicately, feeling the cold steel beneath his fingers. He’d recognize its make anywhere, the mere sight of it causing the scars on his wrists to burn.

A coincidence, he told himself. It had to be.

Yet even as he closed the case and slid it back into the shadows, he could still see that knife clear as day in his mind.

* * *

Eventually the weekend came to its inevitable end.

Ramsay had kissed him deeply on the curb of the facility, their fingers tightly entwined together.

“We’ll do this again,” he’d said, half a promise and half a command. “And once you’re out of here, I want you to stay in the North with me.”

“It’ll be a while before my sister lets that happen,” Theon had struggled to maintain his gaze. “You’ll be here next Sunday?”

“Of course.”

And just like that, soon after he was gone. Theon didn’t know if he was grateful or mourning the loss. Everything seemed to make more sense when Ramsay was there - it was easier to trust in him, to surrender to sweet words and assurances and to shut out the fearful ramblings of his own mind. Now that he was alone, there was nothing to hold back the tide.

Except maybe the obvious thing.

“You look like you’ve had quite the weekend,” Dr. Forrester said, assessing him politely. “Care to share?”

Therapy. It would either be the life or death of him.

“It was good,” Theon said, probably looking and sounding like he was being held at gunpoint. “He showed me around. He lives in the woods.”

“How was that for you?”

“Not great. Not terrible though. It just. Was.”

“Fair enough.”

“We also had sex.”

“I suspected.”

A lengthy pause.

“He’s got kinks,” Theon said bluntly and god, he was acting like a machine who’d never heard humans speak before. “BDSM and shit. He said it’s not a big deal, he didn’t even want me to find out yet. But do you think… do you think I’d be able to, like. Do that?”

Dr. Forrester only looked at him, expression unreadable.

“It isn’t unheard of for survivors of assault to utilize kink and power play. Being able to explore certain scenarios in a safe, controlled environment can bring about catharsis and build trust between partners,” she said carefully. “However, your specific situation was… quite severe, as you well know.”

“Yeah,” Theon said. “I know.”

“I would think very carefully before engaging in such practices. Do you think you might find emotional release from that sort of activity?”

“I don’t know. I trust Ramsay, really, it’s just that sometimes… sometimes when he talks, or when he touches me… it’s like _He’s_ the one who’s doing it.” Theon gripped the armrests, bracing himself. “And sometimes I… I don’t hate it.”

To his surprise Dr. Forrester expressed no surprise or disgust at this, even as Theon’s own insides curdled with shame.

“Forming an attachment to one's captor as a survival mechanism is a known phenomena, and nothing to be ashamed of. What you’re experiencing with Ramsay is also not uncommon in survivors of traumatic relationships. Those who were abused by parents or lovers will often find themselves drawn to people with similar temperaments.”

“Ramsay’s good to me,” Theon said firmly. “He is. He’s nothing like that monster!”

“Yet you find yourself projecting the memory of your torturer onto him,” Dr. Forrester said. “Reliving a terrible experience in an attempt to rewrite it and find closure is far from strange.”

“Why the hell would I want to relive what happened? It’s over, there’s no changing it!”

“And it’s good that you consciously know that,” Dr. Forrester said with a nod. “But subconsciously, your mind wants to fix what went wrong. It wants to believe that it _can_ be fixed.”

“There’s no fixing what happened.”

_There’s no fixing me._

“Have you talked to Ramsay about this? Communication is vital to any relationship, but especially in these cases. If he is in some way triggering your PTSD, that bears discussing.”

“I don’t know if it’s him or me. My mind is so fucked,” Theon said. “I’m seeing patterns and similarities that aren’t there.”

The scents, the dogs, the woods, the damn knives.

“I stand by what I said. If you seriously intend on having a future with Ramsay, honesty and open communication is the only way to go forward.”

* * *

“Well if it isn’t the stud himself.”

Theon looked up from his food, mouth full of mashed potatoes.

“Nn?”

A few of the girls were depositing their trays at Theon’s table, all of them bearing the aura of bloodhounds in search for the latest gossip.

“So are you going to give us the details on your weekend of sin, or do we have to use our imaginations?” Elle asked.

“And we have been. Extensively. In case you were wondering,” Lori said.

Theon swallowed. “Uh. I mean, sex was had. I’m not sure what more you want me to say.”

“Ugh. Come on, give us something good. Let me live vicariously through you for at least five minutes.”

“I have no idea why anyone would ever want to live through me for anything,” Theon said wryly.

“Fair point. My counter-argument: tragic though you are, the fact that you’ve got two smoking Northern blokes chasing your pale arse is still more than what I’ve got going for me right now.”

Theon looked at her in bewilderment. “What are you talking about? I’ve only got the one boyfriend. Not exactly swimming in prospects over here.”

“Oooh, you haven’t heard!” Ava grinned. “You got a visitor while you were gone.”

“A gentleman caller.” Elle added seriously.

“Excuse me?”

“Real cute guy. Auburn hair, nice coat. He wanted to see you. He wasn’t on the list though, so even if you had been around they would've still sent him off.”

“Oh god,” Theon put his fork down, whole body going cold. “That’s Robb fucking Stark.”

“Hey, I’ve heard of him!” Lori said. “Well, I’ve heard of his family. Man, you’re getting fought over by _rich_ hot guys now? Fuck.”

“I’m gonna go be sick.”

“Yeah, alright.” Ava pulled his abandoned tray towards herself. “Pro tip: wait until you’re in your own place if you want to avoid the bulimia lecture.”

Theon fled the dining hall without another word, dodging every person and obstacle between him and his flat. He slammed the door shut behind him, breathing like a winded animal.

Robb had been here. He came _here_. In person. Why!?

“Jon, you son of a _bitch_.” Always the fucking tattletale, at least where Theon was concerned.

It was a few more moments of heavy breathing before he noticed that something had been dropped through his mail slot. A letter. Theon reached for it with shaking hands, his heart breaking at the sight of the familiar penmanship on the envelope.

He didn’t want to read this. He knew there was no chance there was anything contained within that he’d want to see. Yet at the same time he felt it was at least owed that he not be a _total_ coward.

_ Theon. _

_ By now you probably know that I came by to see you. You’ve been rather hard to get a hold of, but I guess that’s your right. You’re still not ready to talk and I understand. You’ve got a lot going on and I don’t want to be another thing to bring you stress. Just know that I’m always here, however long it takes. _

_ I’m writing because I’m worried about you. I’ve been worried all along, but recently Jon told me that he saw you up in Long Lake with Ramsay Snow. I know it’s not my place to interfere, but I have to be sure that you know what you’re getting into with the Bolton family. Unfortunately all I have are rumors, but among the Northern families they are widely accepted to be true. _

Theon’s hands were shaking so severely that he could barely read the next sentences straight through. The words extortion, trafficking, missing persons and torture stuck out, burning themselves into his brain.

_ I have heard too much, from too many people I trust, to believe that Ramsay Snow is a safe person to be with. I know that you are going through a vulnerable time right now, and I hate to think of the people who might see that and seek to take advantage. Even if you don’t believe it, I still care about you and never wanted to see you come to harm. _

_ Please be safe. _

_ Love, Robb  _

Theon then put the letter aside, barricaded himself in the bathroom and proceeded to be sick in earnest.

* * *

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible.

Theon knew what going mad felt like. He remembered when his whole world and whole sense of self was wrenched away from him, and it still didn’t feel quite like this. Now there was that extra dose of heartbreak, that sting of betrayal and violation that he had only tasted when he learned his father had disowned him.

Yet he couldn’t even commit to that much, because Theon simply could not trust his own brain. He could not trust his fears or doubts, because he was a traumatized and anxious cunt who didn’t have the firmest grasp on reality even on his best day.

But he did trust Robb.

Theon lay in bed staring into the darkened ceiling. He found it very easy to believe that the Bolton family was crooked, and that Ramsay would know or be involved. But that was still a far cry from the suspicions that were also brewing within him.

If Ramsay were capable of all those awful things, what else was he capable of? If he could hurt people for money… surely he could do it for fun.

The sad truth was that Theon found it easier to believe Ramsay dated him as a cruel joke than to think the feelings were genuine. But there was still the chance that this was all in his head, all a result of his insecurities and paranoia.

Even _if_ Robb’s allegations were true, being some kind of old money gangster was still a far cry from being a serial killing psychopath who tortured random people in the woods.

And what if it was true? What was Theon supposed to do then?

Theon clutched a pillow tightly to his chest, wishing he could smother the traitorous thoughts that were wriggling about in there.

 _He came back for me,_ the voice whispered. _Master came back for me._

No, no, no! He was not going to fall back into that cesspool. He was Theon Greyjoy of Pyke and he’d come too far to fall apart again. His sense of reality was rattling apart at the seams but he could still hold fast.

_Ramsay makes me feel so good. It can’t all be a lie._

Maybe that was worse. The idea that Ramsay’s want and care for him could be genuine alongside all the other horrors was the most frightening prospect of all.

Even amidst the fear, Theon felt a hollowness in him. He missed Ramsay. He felt so cold in this lonely bed and he wanted to be held again.

_Hold me down, consume me, make everything else go away-_

Oh god. What was he supposed to do? If he brought it up and his fears were wrong, it would ruin everything. If he buried it and they were right… what then?

There was no winning either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loooong chapter this time. Next one will be Ramsay pov, and is probably(?) the last one? But with me who fucking knows man


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's DONE. I warn you that this chapter is not as thoroughly edited/revised as the others, on account of being 15k and I started seeing double the more I looked at it.

Ramsay would be among the first to admit that he’d never been much of a forward-thinker.

It was much more rewarding, in his opinion, to simply pursue his pleasure and chase his urges where they led him. Sure there had been little bumps or mishaps in the past, but he’d always known how to steer the odds in his favor.

_“If I wanted a bastard at my party, I would’ve invited Jon. I hope you brought your own beer.”_

Starting the fire was just for a quick laugh, a bit of fun with the obnoxious rich boy who snubbed him. He didn’t expect that they would cross paths again with Greyjoy all but homeless, three sheets to the wind and downright insensible… and it had just been so easy.

So Theon Greyjoy had just been one of those things. A chased urge, an impulse purchase. Ramsay had seen and wanted and taken, and in time he’d have worn his plaything through and discarded it like all the others prior. It was all good fun at the beginning - he had tortured men before for his father, but he’d never had one in his personal dungeon.

Theon gave a nice struggle, of course. Perhaps even better than most. The man was so proud that he couldn’t even bring himself to _fake_ submission, despite the insolence bringing him only pain every time. It tested the boundaries of Ramsay’s patience on occasion, but it was a good sport. He wanted it to be real anyway when the Ironborn finally cracked.

And oh, did he ever. It took the removal of his cock to get there, but get there they did.

Maybe in the end that sincerity was what did Ramsay in. Theon could fake happiness like no one else, but once his smile was taken away (literally and figuratively) there was nothing but true, raw emotion. His rage was real, his despair was real, and when he got on his knees and expressed his defeat… well that was real too.

_“Master, don’t leave me again… nothing feels real when I’m alone…”_

It was just another game. It wasn’t supposed to like, _awaken_ anything in him or anything!

But Ramsay let himself be charmed. He lost interest in the girls, who screamed and bled so nicely but always kept their hearts and souls locked away from him, regardless of what was done to their bodies. The first time he and Theon had sex the boy cried all throughout, even when Ramsay made sure he came. He had clung to Ramsay after, still sobbing, his mind so fractured and desperate for comfort that it had him reaching for the perpetrator.

It was hard to describe the rush of power and lust that coursed through Ramsay’s veins when Theon Greyjoy - arrogant, wealthy, trueborn playboy with the smug grin - gave all of himself to his master’s mercy and _meant it._ The high of truly owning another person in every way was a drug like no other.

Ramsay started making plans, because they couldn’t stay at the Hornwood cabin forever. Theon would have to be moved, maybe to the dungeon beneath the Bolton house. He could have been kept down there forever.

The tables had turned so quickly.

One moment everything was proceeding like normal - Ramsay had laid his knives out, injected his boy with a standard Bolton cocktail that would keep him awake but immobile - and he just stepped out for a _minute_ to grab more disinfectant. He had come back to find his new favorite pet bleeding out before his eyes, frail body growing paler and colder by the second.

Ramsay still got an icy feeling in his stomach when he remembered how it felt to lose all control. He had driven playthings to suicide before but usually as part of the game, to push and see how far they’d go before breaking. He felt no satisfaction nor joy as Theon’s life slowly seeped away, only pure raw panic that surprised even him with its force.

He knew he could slow the bleeding with the materials on hand, but the cuts were simply too deep to safely treat in the cellar. He also didn’t have the blood bags to give an infusion and make up for what Theon was losing. Fuck, he didn’t even know what Theon’s blood type _was._

“Don’t you fucking do this to me, don’t you dare!”

He was losing his grip when he couldn’t afford to. Theon had gone limp, but Ramsay told himself it was the drug still in his system. In that moment he knew a choice needed to be made, but perhaps in reality his mind was already made up. It would have been cleaner to leave Theon for dead in that cellar, and would certainly spare him the “if you get caught you’re on your own” talk from his father… but Ramsay simply couldn’t allow things to end that way.

If Theon Greyjoy was going to die, it was going to be on Ramsay’s terms only. And it certainly wouldn’t end with the cunt _leaving_ him.

So Ramsay got his burner phone and called the ambulance, playing the part of a hiker hearing screams from a nearby cabin. Then he packed up and left.

“Always pushing,” his father had said, turning off the news in disgust. “Always breaking your own toys. One day you’ll do it with something you actually want to keep, and no amount of your tantrums will bring it back.”

Gods damn the old man for always being right.

In Ramsay’s defense, he hadn’t fully come to terms with the fact that he _did_ want to keep Theon Greyjoy - not until the little shit had taken a blade to his own wrists. He was still kicking himself for underestimating the necessary dosage of sedative, as well overestimating his pet’s mental stability. Well, lesson learned: in the long run the carrot was just as valuable as the stick.

He let Theon go. Temporarily. Ramsay needed to lay low anyway, needed to work himself back into his father’s lukewarm graces and let the investigation run itself dry. Eventually things would realign for them, even if it meant biting the bullet and going to the Iron bloody Islands to make it happen.

Thank the gods that hadn’t been necessary. Ramsay fucking hated seafood.

* * *

Time marched on, seasons changed. Cops gave up and disapproving fathers thawed. Three years was a decent chunk of time.

Ramsay behaved. He went to his classes and minded the animals and pointedly didn’t bloody his hands on a whim even if he was bored. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the work his father gave him, but sometimes the sanctioned jobs could be so limited, and over so quickly. Meeting his father’s standards and deadlines often lacked the intimacy of completely dismantling a person, peeling away mind as well body. It wasn’t likely that Ramsay would be allowed to hunt his father’s business rivals through the woods anytime soon, that was for sure.

He supposed that sacrifices had to be made when practicing for money instead of the art. Such was life.

“Married, are you?” Ramsay asked, making the incision just above the wedding band.

He didn’t know or especially care who tonight’s prey was. Just some middle-rung corporate asshole caught embezzling in Roose Bolton’s company. Big whoop.

“I’ve got a bride myself,” he said, talking calmly over his guest’s muffled screaming. “Put a ring on him and everything.”

The kind that couldn’t be removed, either. He had seen Theon worrying at it on automatic, rubbing at the band of ruined skin like the gesture would somehow calm his nerves. It always sent heat pooling into Ramsay’s stomach at the sight.

“Thing is that he doesn’t know he’s mine, you see?” He went on, beginning to peel back the flesh. “So I guess you could say he’s been unfaithful, as far as he’s aware.”

Naughty. Ramsay would have to punish him for that at some point.

_You thought you could move on? You thought that anyone but me could love you? Think again._

“He’s a good boy, really.” He carefully parted skin from the quivering muscle. “But not very bright, if I do say so. He just needs a bit of correction sometimes. Guidance. I’m sure you know how it is.”

His guest didn’t want to cooperate, thrashing and screaming all over the shop, but Ramsay was an old hat at this. His case of knives was open and on display atop the nearby table, gleaming beautifully. It had been a bit of a close save when Theon stumbled onto them, but half-truths were always effective enough. Not that he’d never used the knives for sex, but it was hardly their primary purpose.

“My boy is of a rather capricious stock, as well. Some breeds are harder to tame than others… but I think you’ve noticed I have my ways.”

Theon Greyjoy had been of such characteristically bad Ironborn temperament too, so willful and tough to break. A purebred stud at that, trotting about so smug and thinking he was the alpha. Gelding him had been the right idea. Ramsay didn’t need a barking nuisance, marking and rutting on everything. Training went so smoothly after that, with him teaching Theon more manners in two months than the Stark family had in over ten years.

Ramsay had never before understood the urge to keep a pet, soft and useless and only good for warming the house. But then his boy had rolled over so sweet, eyes so wet and desperate, and it would’ve been enough to turn any man around. He had enough hunting and attack hounds in the kennels anyway. Teeth and bloodthirst was what he had his bitches for. Speaking of, he should probably get to checking on Myranda…

“Well you’re a bleeder, aren’t you?” Ramsay said, letting the sheared flesh fall to the floor with a wet slap. “I usually see that in the folks who take a lot of blood thinners. That’s not good for you, you know.”

He was sure his guest was about to engage him in a very scintillating conversation, but alas they were interrupted by the chime of his phone.

“Hold that thought.”

Ramsay plucked his phone from the table, holding it delicately in his blood-spattered gloves. He wordlessly mouthed ‘it’s him!’ with an excited gesture at his screen.

“This is so unexpected. I hate to be rude, but can you just- just hold this for me, like that-“ He removed the gag from his guest’s mouth (it was fucking soaked, ew) and slipped a small cluster of broken glass onto its tongue before replacing the restraint. “There you go.”

His guest froze, breathing heavily like a labored beast, but was suddenly desperately silent. Ramsay gave him a final pointed look before answering his phone.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, dear?”

“ _Yeah, I know. I couldn’t sleep.”_ A pause. _“It’s hard to sleep by myself now.”_

It was almost infuriating how adorably pathetic Theon could be. Sometimes Ramsay just wanted to cup his face and _squeeze._

“Poor thing. I miss you too.”

He had worried, at the start, that none of his pet would remain after three years, and that the entitled cunt he met at the party would have somehow revived himself. It had been quite a relief to learn that wasn’t the case.

_“Listen, Ramsay… you know my family… it’s involved in some pretty shady shit, right? I’ve never been part of it, but. It’s always been a thing.”_

Ramsay felt his brow rise. An unexpected topic, but yes, he was aware of the Greyjoy dealings. He was pretty sure everybody in the nation was. It was just that most were happiest leaving Ironborn business out of sight and out of mind.

“I’ve heard rumors.”

 _“Right. I guess I’m saying that if there’s something you wanted to tell me…”_ Theon hesitated. _“You can._ ”

Interesting. The Bolton family business was considerably more discreet than the Greyjoy spectacle; whereas the latter was pretty common knowledge everywhere, the Bolton activities were only really whispered about throughout the North itself.

“What’s brought this on?” He asked, when what he really meant was “who the hell have you been talking to”.

_“You know how Jon saw us on Promise Night?”_

“Ah.”

And nothing more really needed to be said, did it?

Robb goddamn Stark. Now there was a man worth hating on principle. Of course it was too optimistic to think he could be dismissed as old news. Ramsay had his own feelers out in the Umber’s and the Frey’s, and the consensus was that Robb Stark was still not over it - the man must have been the only one left on earth who was still pestering the police about the investigation. Apparently he had also been nosing around his Karstark relatives, who owned the land Theon’s facility was built on, asking questions about how safe or secure it was.

“You don’t need to trouble yourself with what my family does,” Ramsay said gently. “You know I’d never let anything happen to you.”

Half-truth. He’d never let anyone _else_ do anything to Theon.

“And I know you’d never let someone come between us,” he continued. “You know me. Have I been anything but good to you?”

“ _You have! I mean, you haven’t. I mean-“_

“Right. Then we won’t be listening to any more rumors from former friends, will we? We trust each other.”

_“… Yeah. Of course.”_

Well that wasn’t very convincing. Ramsay would have already garroted Robb Stark with a cheese wire if he thought Roose Bolton wouldn’t find out and pitch a fit. Time to change tactics.

“You said you and Robb were very close,” he said. “Is there something _you_ aren’t telling _me_?”

 _“What?”_ Theon yelped, clearly caught off guard. “ _No! That- what are you saying-“_

“You can see how I might be concerned. A man from your past, who was so _dear_ to you, showing up and sewing seeds of doubt in your mind about me. And you listening.”

“ _Ramsay it isn’t like that-“_

“Does he treat you better than I do? Or are you more attracted to him than me? Or maybe,” he lowered his voice, playing the big card now, “it’s that he’s a Stark and I’m a Snow. Is he more on your _level_ , Theon?”

 _“No! I don’t think that at all, Robb and I aren’t even talking, he just sent this letter and I-“_ Oh gods, he was blubbering. Ramsay wished he could see it in person, Theon was always so pretty when he cried… _“Plea- Don’t be upset, I just had to ask, I trust you I promise-“_

“Hush, lamb. It’s okay. I know how easily you get confused. Drink some water and get yourself to bed, alright?”

 _“O…okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”_ Theon likely didn’t even know what he was sorry about, only that he was desperate to free himself of his sourceless guilt. He’d probably go to bed and not even realize that Ramsay had never denied the allegations.

“Everything’s fine. I’ll call you in the morning.”

Ramsay ended the call before turning to his guest with an exaggerated show of exasperation. There was blood dripping from the pig’s mouth, matching the tears spilling from its eyes.

“Woo. Sorry about that. He is just _so_ emotional. Now where were we?” Ramsay looked up at the muffled pleading as he grasped his knife once more. “… Oh no, you’re going to hold onto that for a while longer. I’d stay still if I were you.”

With that he resumed his work. No rest for the wicked, after all.

* * *

Myranda sought him out first, knowing full well how he got after a job. He usually left it to her to ‘make up’ after their spats. Like hell he was going to appeal to her mercy and placate her ego just to get a lay.

If she was still sour about the whole situation, that was simply something she’d have to live with.

That night she pulled him into one of the empty kennel stalls and rode him hard, raking her nails down his shoulders and grinding her body against his like she had something to prove. He slapped her for the impudence - she knew he couldn’t risk Theon seeing any marks - but if anything that only spurred her on, her hands wrapping in a stranglehold around his neck.

Ramsay wasn’t a masochist but he liked a bit of fire sometimes. There was a rush that came with winning a good fight, and Myranda was always good for that.

“Does your precious mutt fuck you like this?” She hissed, squeezing too tight to allow a response.

Ha. Theon would never raise a hand to him. On the day he did muster the confidence to ride him, he’d probably spend at least five minutes sitting on Ramsay’s cock, stuttering and blushing all the way down to his collar. Ramsay would have to coax him, guide him into it, gradually train Theon in all the best ways to please him until that was all his boy knew-

He pinned Myranda down onto the floor and set into her without mercy. He felt her body shake with her climax but it was inconsequential to him, his mind envisioning a completely different scene as he rode out his own orgasm.

For a good while Ramsay only looked down at her, her dark hair splayed across the floor and her fair skin flushed pink.

He really did like her. He always had. Birds of a feather and all that. He had even meant it when he talked about marrying her all those years ago - even if it had been in a moment of passion flavored by resentment for his father - and she’d clearly taken the conversation to heart.

But marrying her would’ve been giving up. His father would never abide the kennel master’s daughter bearing the future generations of their family. The man would probably give a sneering congratulations, say that it was good that Ramsay had found happiness on his level, and undoubtedly dismiss his bastard to be a Snow forever. And that was the best case scenario. Roose Bolton could very well opt for more definitive action in order to prevent a rival line of inheritance from threatening his trueborn whelps.

Not that Myranda could ever understand any of that. It was a childish promise for a childish dream that Ramsay had outgrown.

She had never been enough for him anyway. Like the rest of the bitches in the pack, she was all teeth, but unlike them she didn’t know her place. Dogs like her belonged in the kennels, not in the house. He could only imagine the entitled nightmare she’d have become as his wife.

Ramsay wordlessly pulled out of her and climbed to his feet, already setting to right himself.

“You think he’ll love you like I do?” Myranda asked. “You can’t play nice forever. Once he knows what you’re really like, it’s over.”

He might have agreed with her once, but now he was no longer sure. He had always known that he couldn’t play the white knight in perpetuity, and had thus been toying with other various long-term prospects. Faking Theon’s death and keeping him in another dungeon had been a favorite, albeit inconvenient to execute (Yara Greyjoy would go rabid, a decoy corpse and false DNA test would be a pain given how distinctive Theon’s body now was, and with Robb Stark apparently also watching it all seemed very unlikely Roose Bolton would abide the risk). But then something happened that changed it all.

_“Do you suppose he ever thinks about me?”_

Oh his sweet, sweet boy. In that moment he glimpsed something amazing: the prospect that Theon had been yearning for Ramsay, the _real_ Ramsay, this whole time. That he was in Theon’s dreams as well as his nightmares, in his mind and in his veins, and not even three years of distance, doctors and therapy could wash him out.

Myranda was still watching him with cool green eyes, knowing and bitter. Her eyes always reminded him of the forest, but these days he found himself thinking more and more of the sea.

“It won’t last,” she said, a calm veneer hiding the storm within. “That creature you’re toying with won’t keep. And when it’s over, maybe I won’t still be here.”

“Of course you will,” Ramsay said, doing up his trousers. “Where else would you go?”

* * *

Ramsay never supposed for even a minute that his father wasn’t aware of what he got up to.

It was safest to operate on the assumption that Roose Bolton simply saw and knew everything, especially when it came to the walking liability he’d sired. He had almost certainly known about Ramsay’s… extracurricular activities while they were happening, and yet the man had done nothing. Ramsay expected more or less the same attitude in regards to Theon.

“I hear you’ve been busy.”

Of course it couldn’t be that easy.

Ramsay shrugged, hands in his pockets as he examined the sparse decor of his father’s office. He hated all of it. Every time he came in here he was left feeling like a scolded child.

“I do the work you give me.”

“I’m not referring to work,” Roose Bolton said, firelight catching off his glass of scotch. “It was a rather close call you had. Here I’d hoped you learned something from the experience.”

Ramsay refused to outwardly react. “I was careful from start to finish. No one was ever going to find anything.”

“We both know exactly how ‘careful’ you were,” Roose said dully. “And now where you once refused to tie up loose ends, you risk everything by going back and pulling on them.”

“Theon doesn’t know anything. He _adores_ me,” Ramsay said with a touch of pride. “You have nothing to be concerned about.”

It wasn’t even a lie. With minimal prompting his pet fell so easily back into his old conditioning, clamoring for affection and desperate to please. It was at the point where Ramsay was barely keeping up the act at all anymore. Sure his boy needed a hug and a kiss to tide him through the smacks and the sharp remarks, but that was back to the old carrot-and-stick method. Enough placation or nudging had Theon submitting like an angel, and there was nothing Ramsay liked more than getting his way.

“When you are involved, no amount of concern is enough.” Roose looked at him with somber consideration. “You’ll bring him to lodge next weekend.”

Ramsay froze at that. “What?”

“You say he trusts you. Prove it,” Roose said. “Convince me that the boy is yours, that this indulgence comes at no risk to the family, and I’ll let you keep him.”

“Father-“

“The decision’s been made.”

Ramsay swallowed his retort and forced a smile on his face. “Of course.”

Fuck.

* * *

“It’s like camping?” Theon asked, looking some mix of confused and fearful. “In the woods?”

“Not exactly.”

Ramsay drummed his fingers on the coffee table. Theon’s flat at the facility smelled like ocean-scented candles, driftwood and old books. The various keepsakes and stacks of novels littering the place were probably to blame. There was a faint hint of some classy perfume too, crisp but feminine, and it tended to cling to Theon’s sheets and sleep clothes.

“Every month or so we go out in a group to hunt whatever’s in season. Some of the men will be in tents, but we’ll be in the lodge with my father.”

“So it’s a _cabin_ in the woods,” Theon said, clutching his mug to his chest. “Ramsay, I really don’t know-”

“It would mean so much to me,” Ramsay took Theon’s other hand and gave his best expression of sincerity. “My father wants to meet you. I know it’s a big step, but I want you to meet him too.”

Probably the biggest and most direct lie he’d yet told to Theon’s face. Alas the point of this exercise was to demonstrate his control, which meant that failing here meant failing his father’s test before it even started.

“Oh.” Theon flushed slightly, like he always did whenever Ramsay made some kind of devotional gesture. The boy was really too easy. “Well… for how long?”

“Just the weekend. Two nights max.”

“What are you hunting?”

“Most of the men will bring in smaller game, maybe deer,” Ramsay said. “My father and I are the ones licensed to hunt shadowcats so-“

“Hunt _what?_ ”

Maybe he should’ve saved that detail for later.

“It’s not a big deal.” Ramsay squeezed his hand. “The dogs do most of the work, we’ve done it a hundred times before. There’ll be at least two dozen of us, all armed, with the pack as well. You won’t even be there for that part, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Theon seemed to be trying to shrink into the depths of his sweater. Ramsay sighed, knowing he’d have to play the sympathy angle.

“I’ll be honest… my father doesn’t often approve of what I do. Or of me in general. I’m sure you can imagine.”

Theon winced, probably thinking back to whatever he’d witnessed of (and contributed to) Jon Snow’s upbringing.

“But I really want my father to approve of us,” Ramsay continued. “I want him to see how good you are for me. I wouldn’t ask this of you myself, but he wants you to come.”

Theon’s expression turned serious and contemplative. When so much about the boy screamed ‘daddy issues’, it was no surprise that he could relate. Ramsay probably had Theon’s daddy issues to thank for a lot of things, frankly.

Ever since that night at the hotel he had been testing the waters, letting the nice guy act slip bit by bit just to gauge Theon’s reaction. The results were in: it was blatantly clear that Theon craved a stern, steady hand in his life; a reasonable authority figure to monitor him and to deal both the discipline and affection he was so hungry for. Well, that worked out for Ramsay just fine; he could play daddy and keep his boy in line.

“There’ll be a lot of people there?” Theon asked, eyes staring into his mug.

“…Yeah. A bunch of the men who work for my father, along with some business associates. A few might bring their older kids along to show them the ropes.”

What did it matter? Did Theon not trust Ramsay alone to keep him safe? He had been a bit more twitchy than usual lately, which was saying something. Was this squeamishness still thanks to Robb bloody Stark’s interference, and he simply didn’t trust Ramsay at all at the moment?

He bit his tongue, saving the accusations for later. Ramsay couldn’t pick a fight with Theon right now, not when he was playing vulnerable to get him on board.

“Okay,” Theon said finally. “I guess I can tag along. Just for the weekend.”

Ramsay pulled him close as a reward, reveling in how the other man melted at his touch. He loved how light Theon was, how effortlessly he could be picked up and handled. It was like holding a small bird, the little thrum of a hurried pulse so easily felt as it fluttered against his ribcage.

“You won’t regret it,” he said, pressing their foreheads together. “You’ll see. Who knows? You may even have fun.”

* * *

They were due to arrive on site a fair share later than everyone else. Most of the boys had been at base camp since the wee hours of the morning, but the Safe Harbour facility opened early for no one. Ramsay signed Theon out as soon as the doors opened. The two of them made straight for the mountain pass, a ways east of the White Knife where the woods were dense and cold.

Theon was a ball of nerves and Ramsay was having a hard time discerning it from his usual skittishness. An hour in and he was increasingly certain that it wasn’t just his imagination - Theon was being more jumpy than usual. He was huddled in the passenger seat, watching Ramsay with unusually pensive eyes. It was as if he were looking for something, trying to solve some unseen riddle.

If Ramsay managed to encounter Robb Stark without punching his teeth out on sight, it would be divine intervention.

“Something you want to ask me?” He kept his eyes on the road, grip flexing on the wheel.

A long pause. “Nothing I want to, no.”

Ramsay cast him a sidelong look at that. “Nothing you want to. Something you have to, then?”

More silence.

“Sometimes we think there are things we ‘have’ to do,” Ramsay said evenly. “Maybe you should consider if that’s really the case, or if it’s something that will only cause grief in the end.”

He could all but see the cogs in Theon’s mind turning.

“What were you doing in that hotel? The night we met.”

Ooh. This was different. This wasn’t about his family business after all, was it? Clever dog.

“Getting a drink. Using the wifi. You were there.”

Theon was kneading at his finger again, twisting at the mark. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“Were you staying there? For a job or something?”

“I was in the city to attend to a task or two, yes.”

He could sense Theon’s mounting frustration, and how it warred with his fear inside of him.

Ohoho, this was _fun._ Ramsay had been getting a little sick of the nice guy act, but this was a delicious new spin on the game. There might not have been chains or rope involved (and more the pity) but here, in this car, Theon was still Ramsay’s captive.

And he knew it. Or at the very least suspected.

This was good. It was actually bad, but gods, it felt good.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, _pet_.”

And there it was! The flinch. He was never going to get tired of making his little rabbit squirm.

“I,” Theon was starting to lose pace with his breathing, his hand forming a vice grip on the door handle.

Alright, alright. Ramsay veered the car onto the shoulder of the road, giving Theon a perfect view of the sheer drop and endless trees that unfurled from the mountainside. A thin dusting of snow was starting to fall from the sky and it would never be more apparent that outside the car there was simply nowhere to go.

“Baby. You’re getting worked up again.” Ramsay put his hand on Theon’s knee. It was trembling. “Ssh. Hey.”

He cupped Theon’s chin and directed him to look into his eyes. That sea green gaze was growing wet, threatening to spill its salt.

“They say that relationships are best built on honesty. Communication and all that. Yes?” His hand forced Theon to nod. “Yes. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

Theon was worrying at his bottom lip, turning it from pink to red. Ramsay wanted to catch it in his own teeth and bleed it crimson. Patience - being overzealous was what got them into this little mess.

“… Would you hurt me, Ramsay?” His voice was so small.

“Is that a question or a request?”

Theon closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Fine, not the time for jokes.

“I’ve been thinking about _him_ ,” he said, setting Ramsay’s heart aflutter. “I’m always thinking about him. And lately… lately it’s been getting tangled up with what I feel about you.”

“What do you mean?”

Theon shifted uncomfortably. “When I was with him… it was like he made me into a different person. It was more than my body, he got into my head and nothing’s been the same since. It’s like the man that I used to be really died down there.”

Ramsay certainly hoped so. Theon Greyjoy had been an intolerable sleaze and the world was better off.

“And you have to understand, the person I became instead - I was a mess. Down there he was my everything, he was my god. I…” Theon was getting worked up again, actively sniffling to hold back tears. “I know it wasn’t love. I know it couldn’t be. But it doesn’t matter, and everything’s all fucked up because nothing I hear or tell myself changes what I felt, and my head gets all- all confused-“

Throughout all of this Ramsay sat frozen, eyes probably blown wide as he absorbed every word. He told himself seriously that fucking Theon into the passenger seat was probably rather high on the list of worst things he could do, but by the gods it still took every ounce of self-control he never knew he had to listen.

“I need something to believe,” Theon said hoarsely, coat sleeve pressed to his face to mop his tears. “I need you to tell me that I can trust you, that this isn’t all just a big game. I w-wouldn’t be able to take it, I’d seriously prefer you just kill me-“

“Stop.” Ramsay grasped Theon tightly by the shoulders, steering him close once more. “I need you to listen very carefully now. If you believe nothing else, believe this: I would not come this far, nor go through this trouble, if I didn’t fully intend on keeping you. Understand? I’ve never wanted something the way I want you.”

He knew Theon would see nothing but honesty in his eyes. It was this mad, violent hunger that driven Ramsay to save Theon’s life, to bide his time, to put this whole fucking mess together even when it would have been easier and smarter to cut his losses.

“I can’t let you go,” Ramsay said, feeling positively feral. “ _I am never letting you go_.”

He let his restraint fall away as Theon’s mouth crashed upon his. He gave into his earlier urge to sink his teeth and taste blood; Theon hissed in pain but pressed ever closer, arms winding fiercely about Ramsay’s shoulders.

They wound up being even later to camp than anticipated.

* * *

Ramsay strode up to the lodge feeling like a king. Not even his father’s dour look could sully his mood.

“Nice of you to join us,” Roose said blandly, leaning on the lodge porch with a rifle at his hip. “Hit much traffic on the mountain, did you?”

“Don’t be pedantic, father.” Ramsay breathed in a swell of fresh air. “You wanted me to fetch my boy, now here he is.”

He gestured in Theon’s direction, who had been lagging behind slightly as he took in the new sights. The lodge was an impressive but practical two-story structure of logs and cobblestone. The trail up to it was dotted with tents and various other kit, with the men watching from the fire pits with subtle interest.

“Indeed.” Roose looked him over, his sharp eyes likely missing nothing in the flush of Theon’s skin, the bloody swell of his lip or the rumples of his clothes. “Hm.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir,” Theon said timidly, looking unsure of what to do with his hands.

“Properly this time, yes,” Roose said. “I see much has changed since your time with the Starks.”

Theon didn’t have anything to say to that, eyes flickering awkwardly to his shoes.

“My belated condolences for the loss of your father,” Roose continued smoothly. “He was quite an… incisive man.”

“Oh. Thank you. Did you know him?”

“Not very well. Balon Greyjoy was many things, but sociable was not one of them. I hear your sister has since taken the helm, so to speak.”

“She has. My uncles weren’t too pleased, but she’s been doing well.”

“Better than your father ever did, from what I hear. Not to speak ill of the dead, of course.”

“It’s alright. She’s just closed a new deal and should start exporting from Essos next year,” Theon said. “I’m… really proud of her, actually.”

“Yes, I’d heard. The Targaryen heiress. It’s all very exciting I’m sure,” Roose said, looking like a man who had never felt nor expressed excitement in all his life.

It was sure as hell the first Ramsay had ever heard of any of this. Apparently Theon was keeping in steadier contact with sister dearest than originally estimated.

“I don’t suppose you have any plans on getting involved with your family’s business?”

“I’m not really fit for it,” Theon said, looking a bit ashamed. “But my uncle owns a big publishing company, and he says there’s work for me there if I want it. I’ve been looking into online classes too, while I’m still at the facility. Library science or something, uh… quiet.”

“And would this be in the islands, or…?”

Theon went a little pale. His gaze darted to Ramsay, whose own stare could have probably started a fire.

“There isn’t really anything for me in the islands. And I don’t want to be a burden on my sister, so…” He trailed off weakly.

Roose examined him at leisure, cold eyes probably drilling into his soul. Under the combined stares of the Bolton men Theon seemed to shrink even more.

“Well,” Roose said finally. “In any case, welcome. We’ve been scouting the area the past week and have a steady grasp of the beast’s territory. You ever handled a firearm, Mr. Greyjoy?”

“No sir. Never.”

“Just as well. You used to be quite the archer though, didn’t you? I’m sure there’s a bow around that you can use.”

“Ah, I shot in high school, but-“

“A man shouldn’t be unarmed in these parts.” Roose straightened and gestured indoors. “Please, feel free to get settled.”

“I’ll take care of him.” Ramsay tugged Theon towards the lodge. “Come on.”

“He doesn’t expect me to shoot anything, does he?” Theon whispered as they went inside.

“I can’t imagine how.” Ramsay certainly wasn’t going to risk Theon getting mauled or tripping off a cliff just because his father was being unreasonable.

“I hope not. I don’t remember him being that… intense,” Theon said, nose wrinkling in distaste as he took in the mounted animal heads decorating the walls. “He was always just some quiet guy in the background at the Stark parties.”

“My father’s an ass. Keep your distance as much as possible and you’ll be fine.”

They filed up the stairs to Ramsay’s usual room. There wasn’t any wifi but the electricity and plumbing were up to standard. The lodge was a far cry from the Hornwood cabin, so Theon would keep well enough.

“Well I don’t want to be rude. He’s your dad. I’ve never met a partner’s family before, it’s a big deal right?”

“Is it?” Being threatened by Yara Greyjoy hadn’t exactly felt like a milestone.

“I dunno. Probably.” Theon tossed his bag onto their bed. “At least I know you’ll still be hot in thirty years.”

Ramsay froze. It wasn’t often that he found himself lost for words.

“Tha- you _-_ ”

“What?” Theon looked at him with innocent doe eyes. “I’m complimenting _you._ ”

“Being an insolent brat is what you’re doing.”

“Don’t be jealous. Your dad’s pretty fit, is all I’m saying.”

Ramsay slapped him hard on the thigh. “Now you’re _definitely_ never allowed alone with him. Errant slut.”

He was not ‘jealous’ and he refused to feel threatened by his own father. Yet it was still hard to describe the deep-seated discomfort he felt - maybe it was the fact that Ramsay wouldn’t put it past Roose Bolton to fuck what was his just to prove a point. The idea of Theon taking it, enjoying it even, was enough to put any man over the edge.

The Old Theon was a whore, but Ramsay’s boy would never. He could _never_. Or it’d be the last time he saw sunlight, that was for damn sure.

“Hey now, it was just a joke.” Theon squeezed his arm. “You know you’re the only one for me.”

“Better be.”

* * *

The first day out wasn’t especially exciting - a lot of walking around in the woods and going over the GPS markers the group had placed to narrow down the shadowcat’s trail. Roose and his stuffy old colleagues had gone up ahead, and good riddance.

The searching looks and overall twitchiness had not subsided since their confrontation in the car, but Theon at least seemed to have reconciled something in himself. Maybe he had decided he didn’t want to dig up that landmine after all, at least not while out in the mountains and at Ramsay’s mercy. He stayed within arm’s reach for most of the glorified hiking, but once the dogs caught a sent he was promptly delivered back to base camp along with the less experienced hunters. So that just left Ramsay and his boys.

“Your boy’s a little skittish, Ramsay,” Alyn said, watching him go.

“What d’you expect?” Damon snorted. “I’m impressed he managed to get the poor cunt out here at all.”

The boys were more than aware of what Ramsay had gotten up to in his spare time. Even in the times before the Hornwood, when they were all especially young and rowdy, the boys had participated in enough of his adventures to know what he was capable of. Theon might have been Ramsay’s favorite toy but he was far from the first, and the Boys had been watching it all from the start.

“Is he the reason Myranda’s not here?” Skinner asked. “Probably a good call. _I_ don’t even feel safe most times she’s got a crossbow on her.”

“Myranda’s having a sulk, is all,” Ramsay said. “It’s nothing new.”

“So you’re really keeping this one then?”

“I’ve invested too much to do anything else.”

It had been an entertaining notion to toy with Theon slowly, gradually pushing and escalating until the boy finally snapped. But they’d already played that game, hadn’t they? He had pushed, and Theon had snapped, and Ramsay had been left bereft for three fucking years. Of course three years was still shorter than forever, which was what had nearly been the case.

“Must be some lay. He’s not your usual type though, is he?”

Ramsay laughed, ducking under a felled tree. “He’s _precious_. Who would’ve thought Theon Greyjoy would be such a shy bitch. He does whatever I want him to. Give it a few months and I’ll have him trained into doing tricks on command.”

A round of wicked laughter rippled through the group.

“Ain’t it a problem, since you…?” Damon made a snip-snip gesture with his fingers.

“That’s the best part. You’d think I was sent from the gods just for touching him,” Ramsay said. “You should see how he carries on, gagging for it. Moans like a girl when I put my mouth on him.”

The more he talked about it the warmer he felt, heat spreading from his chest to his gut. Pride and lust mingled in his veins, reminding him that he still hadn’t blown off steam accumulated from the car ride over.

“He loves me,” Ramsay said, grip tightening on his rifle.

The laughter that passed through the group was loudest bout yet.

“He _what?”_

“How the hell did you pull that off?”

“Gods, you might have missed your calling as an actor, Rams.”

Ramsay frowned but swallowed his retort. He wanted to tell them that they didn’t get it. Theon might have fallen for Ramsay ‘perfect boyfriend’ Snow, but his heart had belonged to his Master first. He hadn’t just seen Ramsay at his worst but _experienced_ it, survived it, and come out of it still craving his tormentor’s affections.

Now the rabbit was starting to realize he’d been snared again, and found himself caught between panic and surrender. Ramsay just needed to make sure it was ultimately the latter.

* * *

There was a crude archery range on the site, with targets devised from old barrels or odd planks of wood. That was where Ramsay found Theon when he returned to camp, along with a bunch of the tagalong kids and teens that also couldn’t use firearms.

By the look of it, Theon was a crackshot. Rather impressive, given the state of his fingers. He was clearly struggling a bit with the draw however. Despite returning to a stable weight, he had not yet recovered the muscle lost from his ordeal. Maybe he never would. Ramsay hadn’t really decided.

He didn’t actually care whether Theon lost or gained weight, so long as whatever happened to his body was done on his terms. Food deprivation had been part of the game in dungeon, but now that eating was the struggle he got a new rush from making Theon take more than his fill.

“Theon,” Ramsay called. “It’s time for dinner. Say goodbye to your friends and come inside.”

Theon snorted as extracted arrows from the bullseye. “Sure _dad_ , just five more minutes.”

“ _Now_.”

The kids tittered amongst themselves as Ramsay led Theon back to the lodge by his wrist.

“Better be careful,” he hissed into his ear. “Unless you want to earn yourself a spanking.”

Theon met his gaze, eyes unusually calm and steady. “I’ve had worse.”

Oh, that little -

“Have you ever wanted children?” Theon asked, wisely derailing the subject.

“… Not especially.” Ramsay would have had them if that’s what it took to please his father, but he himself had zero interest in the enterprise. From what he’d seen of his sister’s development, dogs were superior to children in most every way.

“I’d never thought about it before. It’s too late now, I suppose.” Theon shrugged. “Unless my sister marries one of her fifty girlfriends and asks me to donate sperm or something. Even then they’ll probably have to get some doctor to extract it…”

Ramsay made a humming noise that he hoped sounded sympathetic. He could say he’d been gracious in letting Theon keep his bollocks (and he had been), but honestly even that had been for his own amusement. It was funny. Theon could still experience arousal and produce seed, but had no means of truly alleviating himself. Unless of course he sought out his prostate, which was a degradation in itself.

“Why are you worrying about this?” Ramsay asked, grip tightening until he felt Theon’s wrist creak. “Planning to knock up some bitch I don’t know about?”

“Of course not. It’s just hard to not think about the things I’ll never get to do.”

“You’ll never get to walk on the moon, either. Big deal,” Ramsay said, shepherding him inside. “You want a dog? I can get you a dog. A horse, even. You can name it Theon Jr. and pretend it’s your baby like some middle aged wine blogger.”

“A cat?”

“If you keep it in the barn.”

“You want me to keep my baby in a _barn_?”

“Eating rats is all it’ll be good for.”

“Oh, so you only keep things based on what they’re good for?”

“Obviously not. I’ve got you, don’t I?”

“Well that’s romantic.”

Ramsay yanked Theon close and caught him about the waist. “If you come live with me after you’re discharged, I’ll get you all the fucking cats you want. Alright?”

Theon’s breath caught. “I… That’s a little fast, don’t you think?”

“You won’t be out until next year. We’ve already been together over five months, counting the time we were long distance. What’s long enough?”

“W-what about your dad? It’s his house. He might not want me there.”

“Then we’ll get our own place. At the Long Lake village, or by the coast so I can commute for work.” Ramsay's hold tightened. “Unless there’s a reason you don’t want to live with me?”

Theon swallowed. “You never told me what it was you did for money.”

“You never actually asked.”

_Go on, do it. I fucking dare you._

“Ramsay-“ Theon faltered. “… I’m hungry.”

_Pussy._

“Then let’s find dinner.” Ramsay kissed him on the cheek before leading him to the kitchen.

* * *

They had to rise early the next morning for the hunt. Well, Ramsay had to rise early, but once he started easing Theon’s joggers down the other man had little choice but to wake up too.

“Rams- your dad is like- two doors down-“ Theon choked, struggling not to press himself deeper onto Ramsay’s fingers.

“So? I don’t care if this whole fucking cabin hears.” Ramsay grabbed him by the thighs and pulled their bodies flush together. “I want every man and beast on this goddamn mountain to know who you belong to.”

It was during sex that ownership of Theon felt at its most absolute. It was in the way his body shivered and flinched, but clung to Ramsay all the same as they rutted together like animals, his mosaic of scars and marks laid out in full glory. It left Ramsay overcome with a primal, inhuman feeling: the feral urge to claim and devour without mercy.

_Mine, mine, mine._

Theon did his best to muffle his screams, but the rickety bed frame and the slap of skin as they moved together concealed nothing to anyone near and already awake. Let his father explain it to his posh colleagues, who could all pretend to each other that they hadn’t gotten off on it.

When it was over they lay together in a sweaty tangle, the sound of their breathing heavy in the new silence. Theon was a cuddler, always needing aftercare. Ramsay often found himself willing to indulge it. He’d never abided by clinginess in his partners in the past but Theon was different. It was always nice to see how much his boy needed him, how docile and sweet he became in the afterglow. He turned so vulnerable and malleable, too exhausted to keep his walls and defenses up any longer.

They showered together, which was becoming a norm. Theon always perked up around water, eyes brightening once he was under the spray. He used the lather as an excuse to run his hands up and down Ramsay’s body, as if a justification were even needed. Maybe it was - they’d probably want to look into more explicit rules and boundaries soon, just little things to keep Theon in the right mindset. They weren’t equals here, and he couldn’t go taking whatever he wanted all the time.

After they’d toweled off Theon sat on the toilet seat and watched Ramsay go through his morning routine. His brow pinched in discomfort at the sight of Ramsay stropping his straight razor.

“I hardly invented the practice, Theon.”

“It’s a knife on your face.”

“It gives a closer shave than whatever plastic crap you use. You ought to try it.”

“Ha. A recipe for disaster if there ever was one.”

“Then I’ll show you.” Ramsay beckoned him closer. “Come here.”

Theon went rigid.

“I mean it. Don’t you trust me?”

Oceanic eyes darted from Ramsay’s face to the glistening blade in his hand.

“I don’t really need-“

“Get on the counter, Theon.” Without waiting for him to move himself, Ramsay grasped him by the upper arm and steered him over, soon pushing him to sit upon the marble countertop. “Good boy.”

He was shaking as Ramsay applied the lather, a genuine fear budding in his eyes. Oh, the sad wretch was on to him alright. Fine. Ramsay flashed the blade and watched Theon’s pupils dilate. At this rate he was going to get hard again and really make himself late.

“Now pay close attention,” he said softly. “And try to stay still.”

He thought Theon might pass out once the steel edge touched his skin, a broken sigh shuddering free from his chest. Ramsay gently tilted Theon’s head as he stroked the razor down his cheek.

“Not so bad, is it?” He cleaned the blade. “I’ve got you.”

The moment of truth came when it was time to tilt Theon’s head back, exposing the arc of the throat. Theon swallowed nervously, hands forming a white-knuckled grip on the counter.

“Ssh. Just breathe.”

Each stroke seemed to drive the poor boy closer and closer to the brink, his hands likely sore and cramping from their death clutch on the marble edge. Finally Ramsay carved down the line of his throat, navigating the curve of the apple there.

“All done.”

The air left Theon’s lungs in a mighty gust, a cold sweat having broken out along his forehead.

“You did very well.” Ramsay cleaned the blade before holding it out to him. “Now you do me.”

Theon froze mid-inhale. “What?”

“You were paying attention, weren’t you?”

“I- yes-“

“Good. Now show me.” He eased Theon off the counter and took his own seat. “Steady hands, now.”

The confusion and anxiety churning behind Theon’s eyes was delicious. Ramsay could tell he was trying to rationalize this, to understand why this was happening. What was the game?

“Just remember what I did. I trust you,” Ramsay said. “I know you could never hurt me.”

Theon took a deep breath, steeling himself. After he applied the lather Ramsay adjusted his grip on the razor and pulled him closer.

“It’s fourteen passes. I’ll remind you which comes next between strokes if you need it.” Ramsay pointed to the crest of his right cheek. “Here’s number one.”

Theon bit his lip as he ran the blade across skin as directed. For a long moment he stared at the clean swipe he’d made, and then at the razor now dripping with foam.

“That’s good. Clean it off and carry on.”

It went slow. Of course it did. Probably for the better, with his boy being a live bundle of nerves. Yet with each run of the blade Theon grew in confidence, a quiet focus settling in his gaze. It was a surprisingly raw experience to be under another’s knife. Even the sex they’d been having less than an hour prior dimmed in comparison.

Then they came to the throat. At this Theon finally balked.

“Ramsay, I-“

“Hush. You’ve been doing so well.”

Gods, tears were actually starting to well in Theon’s eyes. Ramsay swiped them away with his thumb. He’d been feeling it too, the bone-shaking intimacy that came with having another at his mercy, submitting to his trust. Yet they both knew who really held the power here. Ramsay’s control was the whole point being proven by the exercise.

_You think you’ve figured me out? Fine. We both know you can’t do shit about it._

Theon was probably so torn inside, so confused by his own feelings as well as frustrated by his own inability to retake his power. It had Ramsay’s mouth watering.

He ghosted his fingers across Theon’s silken cheek.

“You love me, don’t you pet?”

Theon looked at him, eyes so wide and lost. It took several moments for him just to find his voice.

“... Y-yes. I do.”

And _oh_ , the look of utter despair and self-loathing that overtook his features then, like Theon had never felt so betrayed by his own self. Ramsay was going to hoard the treasured memory away forever. He grabbed Theon by his lean hips, feeling the shape of them through the towel wrapped about his waist.

“Then do this for me. Finish what you started.”

He tilted his head back. When he finally felt the steel kiss his throat he thought he would be the one to pass out from all the blood rushing straight to his cock.

Ramsay had never known power like this before. His creature, his beautiful broken pup, was a single flick of the wrist from ending him and freeing himself forever - _and the little beast couldn’t do it_. An unholy mix of fear and love stayed his hand and Theon had to fucking despise himself for it. Ramsay had gotten wet dreams that didn’t touch this fantasy.

The razor made its final pass and Theon immediately stumbled back, knife slipping from his fingers and clattering into the sink.

No one moved. The air was taught between them, live with electricity. What was to be said and done now?

A creak of the floorboards caused the spell to break. They both turned to see Roose Bolton, in full kit, watching them blandly from beyond the threshold.

“We are very soon to depart,” he said, dry and proper as all hell. “If you have finished your morning… rituals, I would suggest making your way downstairs.”

“Of course father,” Ramsay said, struggling to keep his voice level. “I was just about to.”

Roose looked at him. They superficially had the same eyes, but his father’s gaze was always so hollow.

“Hm.” The man promptly turned heel and left.

Theon crumpled against the bathroom wall, gasping like all the air had been let out of him.

“I can’t take much more of this,” he said, hands pressed to his face.

“Don’t be absurd.” Ramsay straightened and began to seek out his clothes. “You’ve 'had worse', haven’t you?”

* * *

Ramsay refused to feel awkward or ashamed, even under the weight of his father’s stony silence. He had nothing to be embarrassed about, especially when they all knew how often the whole house got roused by the fat bitch’s shrieking. If he wanted to fuck Theon everyday and on every flat surface regardless of who heard, that was his right as a man.

The pair of them trudged through the foliage and the snow, following the dogs as they eagerly pursued their trail.

“I admit to having been very skeptical regarding your work on the Greyjoy boy,” Roose said, not breaking stride. “Their kind isn’t known for yielding on much. It’s not in their blood.”

Yes, and Ramsay knew full well exactly how much stock his father put in blood and good breeding.

“He was a willful son of a bitch at the start,” Ramsay said. “It didn’t last.”

“There are ways he could be useful to our house. He has his sister’s favor, and she’s proven herself to be far more rational than her father ever was.”

“Oh, is it ‘our’ house now? I hadn’t realized.”

“Don’t be insolent. I raised you under my roof and have given you all that you own.”

Not everything. Theon was Ramsay’s and only Ramsay’s. If Roose wanted to make him 'useful', he’d have to fucking _ask_ first.

“You were an expensive lesson, but one that has finally begun to yield returns.” Roose fixed him with a level stare. “You’ve grown much in the past few years, Ramsay. You’ve learned from your mistakes and acquired some measure of self-control. I'm pleased.”

It was sickening how easily he still reacted to even a scrap of his father’s approval. Like a child. The weakness was inexcusable.

“Get to the point, father.”

“Your sister is still very young. And under your stepmother, it’s not yet for certain that she’ll be fully prepared to attend to the more… complicated aspects of the family business when she’s older. You’ve always taken well to those,” Roose said. “I think it may be time for you to assume greater responsibilities.”

Ramsay stopped in his tracks.

“What are you saying?”

Roose motioned for him to be silent. The dogs had upon the mouth of the shadowcat’s cave but it was all white noise to Ramsay’s senses.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

Ramsay roused himself, adjusting his grip on his rifle even as the tide of emotion welled in his chest. This was a hunt, and there was nothing he did better. It was like a gear then shifted in his brain, a cold and calculated filter quieting the storm in him. He approached the mouth of the cave and stared into the dark.

He could just about see the beast, huddled in the back corner of the cave against the oppressive barking and snarling of the hounds. Its eyes glowed from the shadows. Dim morning light glinted off of its bared teeth.

The shot was especially deafening when he fired, sound ricocheting off the cavern walls. The dogs went silent.

Ramsay stood in position, breathing in the metallic smoke with eyes trained for any sign of movement.

“A clean shot,” his father said after a moment’s appraisal.

The world was too still all of a sudden. It was like time itself had stopped short.

“... There are stipulations,” Roose resumed, casual as anything. “You will of course, be expected to uphold the reputation and standards of the family name. I will not be as lenient with you on this matter as I have been in the past.”

Ramsay still hadn’t moved, still not entirely sure of what he was hearing.

“You will keep the Greyjoy boy and you will keep him well, even when he finally bores you. You will sire no children, legitimate or otherwise. You will be entitled to a portion of the estate, to which you will ultimately name one of your siblings your heir.” Roose gave him a dull glance. “To that end, you would do well to send that kennel whore of yours away before she sabotages whatever contraceptive method I hope you’ve been using.”

Ramsay tensed. He wanted to say that Myranda wouldn’t dare, but honestly she was so uppity these days. She was meant to be on the pill, but he had thankfully taken to using condoms with her lately - he couldn’t be completely certain of who she’d been fucking out of spite for him, and the last thing he wanted was to catch something. Or pass it to Theon, for that matter.

“Father, I-“

“I’ll call the lawyers when we return home.” Roose gestured carelessly at the shadowcat’s corpse. “That is yours to attend to.”

He left, footsteps treading through the snow and the weeds until Ramsay could no longer hear them.

* * *

Theon must have sensed that something had changed. He watched Ramsay with keen eyes the whole day, right up until it was time to drive back.

“Congratulations. On the hunt,” he said, curled up in the passenger seat. “What are you going to do with it?”

Ramsay had handed the limp shadowcat off to be delivered on ice back to the house. There he’d commence the skinning and salvaging process.

“Save the meat, sell the bones and claws. Stuff the head maybe.” He glanced Theon’s way. “I could make a throw blanket for you out of the pelt. I know how easily you get cold these days.”

“That’d be nice. You don’t have to.”

“Of course I don’t.” Ramsay didn’t have to do anything, but keeping Theon happy had just become an official priority.

He hadn’t told his father how skittish his boy had become, how fraught their relationship was turning now that the truth was starting to rise up like a poorly buried corpse under rain. Now all their looks and words seemed to hold double meanings, and the stakes had never been higher.

“There’s still time for us to get dinner before I sign you back in. Any preferences?”

“Anywhere’s fine. But uh, can you stop at that petrol station first? I need to take a leak.”

“Sure.”

They had just started to descend from the mountains and with that came signs of civilization. The station was a grungy thing, but well-traveled from the influx of hikers seeking to use the nearby trails. There was even a bus stop at its doorstep, currently loading up on a troupe of worn-looking campers.

“I’ll just be a minute. The guy’ll probably make me pay for something before he’ll let me use it,” Theon said, rummaging through his wallet.

“Get me a coffee while you’re at it. Feels like I’ve been up since the Dawn Age.”

“Alright.”

He watched Theon disappear inside the station, at which point he toyed with his phone and settled in to wait.

And wait.

Gods, how long did buying some crisps and having a piss take?

Ramsay slammed the car door behind him and strode up to the station with purpose. The door chimed when he pushed through, but the guy at the till didn’t look up. Ramsay strode past him to find the restroom. It was locked with a faded ‘ask attendant for key’ sign on the door.

He knocked thunderously. “Theon?”

No response. No sound at all from within.

Ramsay scanned the empty aisles, heart beginning to kick up beneath his ribs. He circled back around to the front desk.

“Where is he?”

The deadbeat didn’t glance up from his magazine. “Huh?”

“He was just here!” Ramsay tore it from his hands and tossed it to the floor. “The neurotic Ironborn twink who came in to use the bathroom, _where is he!?_ ”

The cashier flinched, his animal brain probably ringing all sorts of alarms. “A guy like that just passed through. Needed to make some change for the bus?”

Ramsay turned to look out the front window, eyes falling upon the bus stop that was now completely vacant. Oh, that little bitch.

“Where does that bus go?”

“The line runs all the way to the city,” the man said, hands up and watching him nervously. “But it makes stops along the road that passes through Hornwood.”

Immediately Ramsay felt like laughing. That slippery minx wanted a hunt? He’d fucking get one.

* * *

The Hornwood brought back memories. Three years was a long time, but not to the forest. The woods were eternal and slow to change. A wave of nostalgia washed over him as he crossed the threshold between public trails and private property. He’d had a lot of good hunts here. A lot of pretty girls. A lot of good laughs at the expense of the police.

It had really taken them an embarrassingly long time to connect the dots, and even then they’d have likely never found Theon if it weren’t for Ramsay giving up the game.

As he journeyed through the trees and the frosty thicket, it occurred to him that he should be concerned. So much hung in the balance now, even more so than it did yesterday. He should be thinking of all the ways he could assuage Theon’s fears and the best angle through which to worm his way into the other man’s mind. It wouldn’t be too hard to turn this around: Theon knew he wasn’t stable and could barely trust in his own reality. It would be child’s play for Ramsay to take him in hand and convince him that this was all his imagination. Theon would want to believe him, and with enough time and care eventually he would.

But Ramsay didn’t want to do that, not when he now knew what he could have for real. He also had to be honest with himself - he did not have the endurance, self restraint nor patience to fake it forever.

So now here they were, back where they started. All the cards on the table. Just the two of them; Ramsay and the one that got away. Wasn’t that so _romantic_.

The Hornwood cabin wasn’t much: just a single story of logs and mossy shingles. The basement was probably bigger than the main floor plan, which wasn’t odd for the really old Northern dwellings. Without electric heating it was sometimes simply warmer to hole up underground.

The door was open when Ramsay arrived. A few ribbons of police tape lay discarded and weakly fluttering on the porch. He didn’t bother to soften his footsteps as he tread over them.

The cabin had been more or less stripped down, mostly by Ramsay himself. After he began making plans to leave the cabin he’d taken out everything that wasn’t nailed down and scoured the rest spotless. There was no such thing as being too thorough when even a stray dog hair could make the difference.

Theon was standing in the empty sitting room, his back to the front door.

“You knew to find me here.” His voice sounded faraway, numb.

“I’ll always find you.”

He visibly shuddered. “Are you going to kill me now?”

Ramsay took another two steps inside. “Do I have to?”

A wet gasp revealed that Theon was crying. Of course. Ramsay took another step, putting them within arm's reach.

“I should- I have to. I need to tell someone. You-“ Theon's back arched at the feeling of fingers ghosting down his spine.

“Let’s say, hypothetically, that this fear of yours is true. Let’s say you run away from here and find yourself a savior. What are you going to tell them? You have no evidence. My family owns all of the North that the Starks are too good to touch,” Ramsay gently combed through Theon’s hair. “And sweetheart, you are not mentally reliable.”

Theon let loose another sob, his breathing ramping up in the telltale sign of a panic attack. He was shaking, hands cupped around his nose and mouth as his world crumbled around him.

“But let’s also say, just for fun, that they believe you. That justice triumphs and they lock me away forever. Is that what you want? Is that your happy ending, Theon?”

His legs gave out then, like a puppet with his strings cut. Ramsay caught him from behind and sank to his knees with him, a controlled descent that ended with them bundled together on the floor.

“Ssh. Breathe, love. It’s alright.” Ramsay kissed his cheek. “I’m here.”

Theon was nearly convulsing, gasping like a hooked fish. Ramsay held him tightly throughout, whispering sweet words and encouragement in his ear.

“Everything gets easier now.” He wiped away the tears, excitement probably pressed rather noticeably against Theon’s hip. “I just need to hear you say it. What you said at the lodge, and in the car before that. Tell me how you really feel.”

Theon crumpled, his attack finally abating but leaving him wrung out and weepy in the aftermath. He couldn’t seem to form words, mindlessly shaking his head like it was all a dream he could wake from. Ramsay sighed in disappointment.

“I can see you’re going to need a little bit of help. That’s fine.” He hooked his grip under Theon’s arms and clambered to his feet. “Up, up, up. There you go. We’re going to have a little therapy session of our own, how does that sound?”

Theon groaned and whimpered in protest, legs scrabbling against the floor as Ramsay steered him to the basement stair.

“Mind the step. There’s a good boy.”

There was more than one room underground and Ramsay dragged Theon straight to a familiar chamber. Everything down here had been stripped out as well - the tables, the saltire, even the manacles from the wall - but Theon still recognized the room on sight.

“Oh god. Oh god no, nonono-“

“Don’t fuss.”

It was dark down below. Ramsay turned on the flashlight in his phone before propping it up in the corner. Long shadows stretched across the stone walls, but the room was just small enough that the light was sufficient. They didn’t need much anyway.

Ramsay pushed Theon to the ground. He toppled like a sack of rocks before backing himself frantically against the wall, where he stared up with wide, broken eyes.

“Do you remember that offer you made me?” Ramsay asked as he undid his belt. “You said that hitting and bondage was okay so long as the light was on.”

Theon flinched hard as leather cracked loudly through the air.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Rams-“

“You can take them off yourself, or I can cut them off of you.” Ramsay extracted the switchblade from his jacket and flicked it open for emphasis. “Don’t tempt me.”

Theon screwed his eyes shut as he slowly began to fumble the zipper of his jacket. Then came his sweater, his shirt. He hesitated at his trousers. His eyes peeked open as if hoping to find mercy, but only saw Ramsay toying with his blade.

“We don’t have all night, Theon.”

The denim fell in a heap at his ankles; he had to take off his shoes to work them past his feet. Ramsay kicked the assorted clothes into a more consolidated pile before having a rummage and fishing Theon’s phone out of his jacket.

“Give me the code.”

“…0115.” Theon sniffed. “My mom’s birthday.”

“You are such a sap.” Ramsay shook his head as he unlocked the phone, sifting through the outgoing messages and calls. “Theon. Did you contact… absolutely no one?”

Theon’s face was flushing crimson. “I-“

“ _No one_? Not even your bitch sister or your dearest Robb? Before running out into the middle of the woods, alone, where you knew I would find you?”

“I didn’t know - I believed that - I thought it was all in my head, I-“ He was absolutely falling to pieces, probably trying to justify the decision to himself most of all.

“Baby, you don’t have to lie to me.” Ramsay tossed the phone to the side, hearing it crack. “We’re all being honest now, right?”

“No you’re wrong, I- I-“

“Didn’t your therapist teach you not to lie to yourself?” Ramsay asked. “Or is that the only way you get up in the morning without me?”

He enjoyed the sight of his pet a while longer, weeping and cold and with his scars on display. Theon was quite a sight, standing in that cellar in naught but his briefs and socks, hugging himself against the chill as his reality dissolved. Then Ramsay snapped his fingers.

“Go on then. Pants off.”

Theon only cried harder.

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Ramsay crowded him against the wall. The cotton of the briefs shredded easily against his knife, which may have ‘accidentally’ nicked Theon’s thigh in the process. “There. You are already making this harder than it needs to be.”

He stepped back and discarded the rags. Theon hugged himself tighter, naked and shivering. A trickle of crimson dripped down his pale leg.

“Get into position. On your knees, hands on the wall, legs apart. You know how it is.”

Theon wept freely but did as he was told, pressing his hands and forehead to the cold stone of the cellar wall. The cement floor must have been quite harsh on his knees, but he stayed put. Just like he’d been trained to do. Without an anchor to hold fast, he was reverting back into old mindsets and patterns.

Ramsay admired the expanse of his back, the curve of his buttocks, the slopes of his thighs. Scars of varying kinds decorated his skin but they were long healed. It was as blank a canvas as Theon could provide anymore.

“You’re so beautiful. Does anyone tell you that anymore? They should.” Ramsay adjusted his grip on the belt. “Although I’d have to kill them after.”

The whistle of leather through the air was a familiar song, as was the crack of it meeting skin. Theon made a noise that half a sob, half a yelp, and it was all sweet music.

“There’s a lot to punish you for but I’ll keep it simple,” Ramsay said, dealing uniform blow after blow. “This is for running away. _Twice_ now. It’s for nearly killing yourself when you should know your life is mine to do away with, if or when I decide to. It’s for cheating on me with, well, _me_ , but you didn’t know that so it still fucking counts.”

Theon’s nails were scrabbling against the stone. He was choking on his own tears against the onslaught. Each strike was a brilliant red ribbon adorning his skin, striping him shoulders all the way down to mid-thighs.

“There’s no moving on from me. There’s no getting away. You understand that now, don’t you? You don’t have to like it, but it’s true.”

Theon was blubbering, clearly trying to form speech. “B-b-b-“

“Use your words, sweetling. I’m listening.”

“But I _was_. I w-was away, I was g-getting _better-_ “

“Ha! Is that what you think? Haunting your uncle’s attic, barely eating, clambering after the first cock to want up your skirt?” Ramsay snorted. “No. You don’t need to get better and you don’t need to be fixed. You’re perfect. I made you _perfect._ ”

Theon was quick to properly bruise, his skin turning into a stunning collage of maroon and purple stripes. Ramsay crossed the room in quick strides, pulling Theon’s hands from the wall and binding them behind his back with the belt. He lightly stroked the heated flesh, touching the darkest marks which would soon start to swell.

Ramsay’s fingers continued southward, skimming over the welted buttocks to slip between punished thighs.

“You wet for me, princess? You’re dripping.” He rubbed hungrily at Theon’s slit. “It’s because you know this is what you deserve. You’re grateful, aren’t you? Because you’ve been carrying that burden around for so long, and now you can finally breathe again. Come on, you know what I want to hear. Just say it.”

Theon shivered but remained silent. Stubborn dog.

“Fine. Since you’re not using that mouth of yours for anything, we may as well pick up where we left off this morning.”

He stood and turned Theon around to face away from the wall, that blue-green gaze left at eye-level with Ramsay’s hips. He was long past hard, having been revving to go since Theon first broke down upstairs. He pulled himself free from his boxers with one hand and flashed his switchblade with the other.

“I shouldn’t need to tell you to be careful with those expensive new teeth of yours.”

Theon gnawed his lip. “I... I don’t know how.”

“I’m not looking for professional quality here, Greyjoy. Just put your filthy mouth on my cock and suck.”

Ramsay’s heart skipped at the feeling of Theon’s breath on his skin. He’d never felt confident enough to do this back then, intending to remove a few more teeth before even risking it. But Theon wanted this, that much was now clear.

Seconds passed at an agonizing pace as Theon inched closer, tongue giving an experimental lick to the wet tip. _Gods._

“ _Now_ , you bloody tease.” He tangled his fingers in Theon’s hair, lust overriding patience.

Once that slick heat surrounded him, it was all he knew. The only thing Ramsay could think about was how warm and wet Theon's mouth was. The feeling was accompanied by the erratic movements of Theon’s tongue and throat, the man accustomed to the bitter taste and foreign weight in his mouth. The job was sloppy and untrained, nothing like the clean and skillful treatment he was used to from Myranda. It didn’t matter.

“Gods, I missed you,” Ramsay panted, heat pooling low in his stomach as he languidly fucked Theon’s tear-steamed face. “I dreamt of this moment. But it’s better, better than ever I imagined because - _fuck_ \- now I know the truth.”

He withdrew himself from Theon’s mouth without warning, pushing him onto the floor. Theon landed on his bound arms, crying out as his throbbing skin hit the icy cement. Ramsay pulled a packet of lube from his back pocket before working his jeans all the way down to his knees.

“Tell me I’m wrong, dammit. Lie to me and say you haven’t thought of this too.” He slicked his fingers and pressed unceremoniously into Theon’s hole. “I want to see that broken look in your eyes when you say it and know it’s all fake.”

“I can’t,” Theon coughed, voice hoarse as he writhed on Ramsay’s fingers. “I tried, I tried so hard but I _can’t_. Master-”

“I'm here.”

Ramsay grabbed Theon’s chin, forcing eye contact. He didn’t want to imagine what his own gaze looked like at the moment - probably like a madman, an animal. Theon was still crying, tears leaking steadily down his face as his green pools overflowed, but there was a desperation there too. Something feral in its own right.

Ramsay took a breath. He slowly stroked his boy’s cheek, thumb running along the line of his swollen lip.

“Are you mine?”

Theon choked, a broken and helpless sound.

“ _Yes_.”

Ramsay pressed his cock, lubed and still wet from Theon’s mouth besides, deep into the hot confines of his pet’s body. Theon gasped at being wholly entered so quickly, his cries echoing off the cellar walls.

“Again,” Ramsay hissed, forcing himself into a slow, almost tender pace.

“I’m yours,” Theon panted, pupils blown wide. “I always was.”

“And you always will be.”

The cellar was filled with harsh sounds of their breathing. Ramsay had never made love to Theon before, and the easy glide of their bodies had the other man arching his back and moaning like a bitch in heat. They kept up like that for a while, neither of them in a hurry to the finish as they simply enjoyed each other’s touch.

“I need to hear it.” Ramsay said breathlessly. “What you said in the lodge. I didn’t let you keep your balls so you could puss out on me. Sack up and tell me the truth. _Say it."_

Theon looked up at him with eyes so broken, deep and earnest.

“I love you.”

He captured Theon’s mouth with his, tasting sweat and seed as he rode through his climax. Theon was not far behind, nails digging into Ramsay’s back once his own pleasure crested.

They went lax together on the cellar floor, bodies running hot and cold at once. Theon curled against Ramsay’s body like he could hide there, like he’d die if they came apart now. It felt like coming full circle. It felt like destiny.

“Is this the part where you kill me?” Theon’s voice was scarcely more than a whisper.

“Tch. You know I can’t kill you.” Ramsay traced the line of his jaw. “Is this the part where you call the police?”

The welts now decorating Theon’s body were pretty impossible to argue as consensual. Of course Ramsay still had a plan B.

It would be very easy to tell the world that he had never found Theon at all, that his boy had taken a bus into the woods, run off and was never seen again. The footage at the petrol station as well as the employee’s statement would confirm that Theon had given him the slip. His boy was widely known to be of unsound mind. Even all of Robb Stark’s bitching wouldn’t be enough to get a warrant to search the Bolton house, let alone all the nooks and crannies therein…

But that path left Theon Greyjoy dead to the world. It left Yara Greyjoy on the warpath, looking for someone to blame. It proved Roose Bolton wrong for trusting Ramsay in less than 24 hours, and any chance of legitimization would be promptly up in flames.

“I should,” Theon buried his face into Ramsay’s shoulder. “You’re a monster. You kill people. You ruined me and destroyed my life.”

“There’s nothing ruined about you. Theon Greyjoy was a worthless cunt that everyone knew but no one would miss. You’re so much more than that now. You’re mine.”

“I don’t want to be.” Theon seemed to have wrung himself dry of tears. “I don’t want to be yours. I don’t want to want you!”

“But you are and you do,” Ramsay said. “It’s your play now, Greyjoy. You want to see me in prison? Locked away from you for life, maybe executed? Do you want to see me dead?”

“No! No, I-“ Theon struck the floor in frustration. “Why did you do this to me? What was the fucking point!? You should have just killed me, you should have let me die!”

“I already told you that’s not going to happen.” Ramsay retrieved his knife from where he’d dropped it, pulling away from Theon just enough to press it into his hand. “Go on then. Slay the beast. Take your revenge, be free. I’d rather it be you then some doctor with a needle.”

Pure heartbreak was the only way to describe the look on Theon’s face, the knife held so awkwardly in his hand. It was gorgeous.

“You already know that I can’t. This morning-”

“You didn’t know then.”

“I did.” Theon looked at the knife, eyes full of self-loathing. “I already suspected. And deep down I knew.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Minutes passed. It felt like hours. Finally the knife clattered loudly to the floor as Theon tossed it aside in disgust. Even though Ramsay knew he couldn't do it, the sight still gave him a warm flush inside.

Theon lay limp on the floor, gaze distant and dull.

“... I think we should break up.”

Ramsay burst into genuine laughter, abdomen hurting with the force of it. “Ah, no. There’s no third option, Theon.”

“You don’t get to tell me that. You either let me go or you don’t. And if you let me go there’s nothing stopping me from telling everyone what you did. There are people who would believe me even without your reputation.”

“Mmhm. Except you fail to account for two things: first, the police are so fucking stupid that they couldn’t find you until I held their hands and showed them. I like my odds in keeping myself hidden just fine,” Ramsay said. “Second, all those people who would believe you? Like the Starks, I’m assuming? Do you really want to put them on my radar when I’ve got nothing to lose?”

Theon looked up in alarm. “You couldn’t.”

“Uh, why not? The only reason I haven’t throttled Robb Stark with his own intestines yet is because my father would give me that _look_.” Ramsay briefly set his expression into one of stoic disdain. “Give me a reason. I’m begging you.”

Theon looked pained. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me. You just hate that you do.”

“You can’t just - just _keep_ me! Force me to play house with you now that I know what you’ve done!” Theon exclaimed. “Whatever way you’ve fucked up my mind, it still isn’t enough to overlook _any_ of that!”

“Yes, which is why I also just threatened your little white knight. Obviously. Keep up, love.”

Ramsay finally pulled out, relishing in Theon’s wince before sitting up and working his trousers back to his hips. He freed Theon from his belt and proceeded to thread it through the loops. The other man stayed down, staring into nothing and looking like his mind was in the process of eating itself.

“I’d start getting dressed if I were you. The facility will bitch me out if you’re not back by eight.”

Theon laughed coldly as if in a daze. He had closed his eyes and seemed to trying to become one with the floor, muttering to himself.

“He can’t do this. He can’t. He… no, no this isn’t real -“

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” Ramsay said mockingly. “Keep talking like that and I’ll take offense.”

Theon moved to sit up and grimaced with pain. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Aw. You want me to make it better?” Ramsay dug through his jacket pocket to extract a tube of lotion. “Come on. Roll yourself over daddy’s knee.”

Theon looked at him in a mix of bewilderment and anger. “You’re a fucking psychopath.”

“And you’re lucky I’m in a very good and generous mood right now. Keep acting cute and see where it gets you.”

Theon scowled before reluctantly crawling over to stiffly lay his naked body down across Ramsay’s lap.

Ramsay dispensed a generous amount of ointment onto his palm before gently rubbing it into the expanse of punished skin. He felt Theon slowly melt, hissing in a mix of pain and pleasure as the cooling effect took hold.

“I wish you killed me,” Theon murmured again, face pressed to Ramsay’s side. “I wish I could kill you.”

“The knife’s still there. I meant it when I said I’d rather it be you.”

“I know you did.”

“If you let it be some cop or prison doctor, it would really break my heart.”

“Plea- Just stop. I’m begging you to stop.”

Ramsay did, just this once. He wordlessly continued to rub the salve into Theon’s body like the crown king of aftercare. His other hand toyed absently with Theon’s curls and pure contentment blossomed in his chest.

It would be a bit of a struggle at first. Theon was feeling betrayed and hurt, clearly torn between his truth and his defiance. He would try to push Ramsay away, even when all he wanted was to pull closer and seek comfort. It was an easy fix: if Ramsay went in heavy on the affection, Theon would never be able to resist for long.

Any misguided feelings of ethical obligation would also crumble soon enough. No version of Theon Greyjoy was a paragon of virtue; he was a selfish, needy, wounded creature who would forsake the world if it meant getting the love and approval he wanted so much.

They both knew the truth now. They were bound together, with both unwilling or unable to pull the trigger. Theon was Ramsay’s; body, mind, heart and soul - the claim had been placed long ago and there was simply no undoing it.

Ramsay watched his prize gasp and sigh under his touch. He felt something in himself thaw and couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just a little bit… some portion of him was also Theon’s.

Well. That would just have to be his secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so concludes Stockholm Syndrome: The Fanfic (feat. its abusive boyfriend Lima Syndrome). God bless.  
> This fic now has a sequel! Linked next in the series :D

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated Valentine's Day, everyone!! I spent mine... writing this fic. Yeah


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